


Everything Stays

by PrairieDawn



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Awkward Sex Education, Background T'Pura, Demisexual Spock, Episode: s01e15-16 The Menagerie, Episode: s01e26 The Devil In the Dark, F/F, F/M, Flashbacks, Gaslighting, Hurt/Comfort, Incompetent Telepathy, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, M/M, Mind melds, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pon Farr, Semi-Public Sex, Shiny!Kirk, Smut starts Ch. 16, Tarsus IV, Telepathy, background Sarek/Amanda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-04-19 12:11:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 94,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14237019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrairieDawn/pseuds/PrairieDawn
Summary: This is not so much an episode fix-it as an episode break-it, assuming that the Talosians are exactly as dangerous as they seem to be for nearly the entirety of "The Cage".  It includes a backwards demi-ace style romance in which Kirk and Spock fall for each other early, but take a long time to negotiate the physical side of their relationship, a lot of Descartes' Evil Genius hand wringing, and a reference to a concept mentioned in Sondra Marshak and Myrna Culbreath's "The Price of the Phoenix", in which the risks to Jim Kirk's sanity and career prospects should he develop significant psi abilities are briefly mentioned.As if anything as trivial as having to completely restructure the way he relates to other intelligent beings would put Kirk down for the count.Fic is complete.  Updates Tuesdays and Fridays.





	1. Mirage

**Author's Note:**

> When the Talosians let Christopher Pike and the Enterprise leave Talos, they said it was because a species that bore such hatred for captivity could not meet their needs.
> 
> They lied.
> 
>  
> 
> Special thanks to picturelyuniverse, whose beta reading is insightful, encouraging, and helps to make me a better writer.
> 
> Also to HeronS, Perfect_Square, and any commenters I've missed who've made suggestions and caught typos.

It took only a few minutes for Spock to return to the room where he had been court martialed. Kirk regarded Spock where he stood, feet exactly shoulder width apart, hands clasped behind his back, muscles taut, face schooled to stillness. He thought he had known the Vulcan better than this. He said only, “Mr. Spock, confine yourself to quarters until I send for you.” He turned on his heel and left his first officer standing in the conference room where he had interacted knowingly with an illusion, where he had lied to Kirk for days.

The Enterprise sped away from Talos. Kirk sat in his quarters, the piece of hard copy exonerating Spock “in light of Pike’s exemplary service and special circumstances” held crumpled in his hand. It didn’t make sense. None of it made any sense. The Spock he knew would not lie to him, put the whole crew at risk of death, and turn his former captain over to beings who were by their own admission in the so-called tapes they had projected onto the Enterprise’s screens, wholly untrustworthy. Kirk lay the paper on his desk, smoothing it out with his palm. It was blank.

He was out of his chair and knocking on the door to Spock’s quarters in seconds. Spock answered, wearing his black undershirt and uniform pants, the dress uniform folded neatly on his bed behind him. Kirk showed him the blank piece of paper. “This is the hard copy printout we received from Admiral Mendez,” he said, shoving it at the Vulcan, who did not look down at it. “You can’t be sure of anything you did, or why. None of us can.”

“I am sure that I brought Captain Pike here in order to spare him a life he would have found unendurable,” Spock said, his voice carefully toneless. The hard copy fluttered to the floor between them.

Kirk scooped the paper off the floor and held it up in front of Spock’s face. “Look at this hard copy, Spock! It’s blank!”

Spock flinched as though Kirk had struck him. “No.” His lips barely moved. “I...I trusted the Keeper. I was...I allowed my concern for my former captain to corrupt my logic. I am unfit to serve on this ship or any other.”

“Spock, we may all be looking at answering for a death penalty offense,” Kirk said.

Spock turned half away from Kirk and the blank, crumpled sheet. “Then we return to Starbase 11 to face our fates.”

Kirk nodded, mouth pulled into a grim line. “We’ll sort out who is and is not fit for duty later. For now I need you on the bridge. We need to contact Starfleet and find out what’s really going on.”

Spock followed him to the turbolift, but once it was in motion, turned to Kirk. “Given the pardon was unreal, we cannot trust anything we see or hear with any certainty, even now that they appear to be gone.”

Agreed. Still, we have to make an effort to contact Starfleet Command and let them know what’s happened. And then you are going to explain to me in detail what was going on from your end in all this mess. I need a complete report.”

Spock nodded curtly, then followed Kirk onto the Bridge. Uhura caught his eye immediately. “I have hundreds of back messages from Starfleet command, sent at fifteen minute intervals since our,” she paused to find the right word, “excursion to Talos, followed by five more days of messages from the USS Celeste, also at fifteen minute intervals, ending approximately ten AU from the planet, roughly three hours ago. I swear, Captain, this is the first I’ve seen of any of them, but they don’t show as being trapped in the message buffer. They were delivered, but I never saw them.”

“We’ve been played, Lieutenant,” Kirk said. “I need a summary report of the content of those messages. I’m assuming they will be fairly repetitive. But first, I need a message sent to Starbase 11.”

“Aye, Captain,” she said.

Kirk slumped into his chair. “This is Captain James T. Kirk of the USS Enterprise. For the past six days, my crew and I have been under the influence of an alien race inhabiting the planet Talos IV. We are still determining the extent of that influence. At this time we believe that these aliens tricked or compelled First Officer Spock to kidnap Fleet Captain Christopher Pike and deliver him to Talos for an unknown purpose under the impression that it was in Captain Pike’s best interest. We are returning to Starbase 11 at maximum warp for debriefing and to receive further orders. Please advise. Detailed reports will be made available within twelve hours. Kirk out.”

He turned to the helmsman. “Mr. Sulu, remain on course for Starbase 11 unless you receive countermanding orders. Under no circumstances, including orders received from me, should you return to Talos. Under no circumstances engage in aggressive action against any vessel or object you see on screen. With those stipulations, comply with any and all Starfleet orders given.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Mr. Spock and I will be in Sickbay. You have the conn.” 

Spock followed him into the turbolift. “Captain,” he said quietly. “I regret that my actions have placed the ship in danger.”

“Stop,” Kirk said. Spock fell silent. “I just...I thought I could trust you to have my back. You went around me. You lied to me. You manipulated me.” He turned to face the wall, unable for a moment to look Spock in the face. “It makes me wonder if you’re even you or if you’re an illusion too, because you’re sure not acting like the Spock I thought I knew.”

The turbolift doors opened outside sickbay. Kirk stalked out, followed a step behind by a still silent Spock. McCoy met them at the door, fuming. “You!” He punched a finger square into Spock’s chest. “All your claims to logic. Did you turn into a complete idiot while I wasn’t looking? Whatever gave you the idea that those alien psychopaths,” he paused for breath, nailing Spock to the doorway with his ire. “Yes, that’s the word I intended to use, that those creatures would make a good home for a Starfleet captain, even a crippled one like Pike? You may well have just condemned that man to hell. Did you ever once think of that?”

Spock shook his head minutely, then answered, his voice hollow. “No. I did not. My actions no longer make sense even to me. I suspect...I suspect I am compromised by more than my attachment to my former captain.”

Kirk sat on the edge of a biobed, gripping his ankle with one hand. Spock stood just behind him, hands clasped behind his back, staring bleakly at the space just over McCoy’s left shoulder. “We were played, and well,” Kirk told them both. “But we need to know how well, so Starfleet has the information it needs to determine what to do next.”

“Unfortunately, we know nothing,” Spock said. “Consider. The Talosians were capable of producing a realistic illusion of Commodore Mendez, utterly convincing, from a distance of just over twenty light years. Everything any of us sees, even now, could be illusion. Or could be real.”

Kirk acknowledged Spock’s concern with a nod. “For now, we act as though our experiences are real, and we work on figuring out how to determine what is and is not.” He scrubbed at the headache forming behind his eyes. “Dr. McCoy, we need to make a list of everyone who directly experienced an illusion. Include Lt. Uhura on that list. She’s apparently been ignoring messages from Starfleet and remembers receiving a completely different set of messages consistent with the story we were told by the Mendez illusion.”

McCoy nodded. “All right, then Christine and I are on the list, Security crewmen Davies and Veldelo, Yeoman Parker, and the two of you. Did anyone else see Commodore Mendez?”

Kirk shook his head. “I don’t know. Send a message out to the crew. I suspect that when he returned to his quarters each evening or went to lunch he just ceased to exist, but he might have made some appearances.”

He turned to Spock. “I don’t know how much we can trust the images we were shown during your so-called court martial, but it looked like strong emotion could block the Talosians illusions.”

Spock nodded curtly. “Pike’s reports after the fact are consistent with that observation as well. Sir. Permission to return to my quarters to meditate upon recent events, in order to improve my recall and determine whether I can detect any signature in my mind that correlates with the presence of an illusion.”

“Granted.” Kirk paused. “Computer, maintain security lockout for Commander Spock until further notice.”

McCoy stopped him at the door. “Let’s get neuroscans on all of us before you leave. I’ll call in the others after we’re done.”

“I’ll need the names of the highest ranking members of each department who never directly interacted with an illusion. Let’s wait until we get the results of the neuroscans, but it’s possible we’re going to need to pull everyone compromised off duty.” A part of him felt that everything they did now was a charade. How could they be sure that they weren’t just going through the motions of taking scans, and if they did take them, how could they be certain that the results presented to McCoy would be real? But they couldn’t just sit and do nothing in a paralysis of uncertainty.

Spock submitted to his scan first, leaving immediately afterward to meditate in his quarters. Kirk went next, then Chapel and McCoy ran each other’s scans. Kirk paced sickbay, waiting for McCoy to finish his analysis until the doctor kicked him out, then he returned to the small workroom off the bridge to try to eat something and go through Uhura’s summary of the messages that had been sent from Starbase 11 over the last six days.

The summary was even shorter than he’d expected. An hour of repeating messages asking Enterprise to search the ship for Pike, followed by another hour of messages demanding they turn around and return Captain Pike to Starbase 11, followed by identical canned iterations of a similar message, but with an additional few lines stating that Mendez believed them to be under some kind of influence that was causing them to hallucinate, not to believe what they saw, and to attempt to break free. The USS Celeste’s messages were similar in scope and frequency.

“Jim, you’d better come down to sickbay,” McCoy said over the comlink. “I have the results of the neuroscans analyzed.” He sounded, if anything, resigned.

Kirk crossed the bridge on the way to the turbolift, stopping only to call Sulu over to him. “Mr. Sulu, keep us on course for Starbase 11.”

“Aye, Captain.”

On the way to sickbay, he worried at the implications of the Celeste’s decision to stop hailing them. A dozen possibilities, most of them anything but benign, went through his head on the way to sickbay. Perhaps the Talosians had managed to trick someone on the Celeste into destroying the ship. Perhaps the Celeste had been ordered to leave the Enterprise to its fate once it entered Talosian space. Perhaps Starfleet had decided that in traveling to Talos, every member of the Enterprise crew had disobeyed General Order Seven, and they had all been sentenced to die, with the sentence to be carried out upon their return. Perhaps...

The door to sickbay slid open. McCoy swiveled toward him in his chair. “Have a seat, Jim.”

Kirk slid into a seat across the table from McCoy. “What have you found out?”

“I took scans of Uhura and Scotty, Chapel, Parker, Davies, and Veldelo, in addition to the three of us and compared them to our baseline scans, along with the four I’ve taken of you since you went under the Tantalus device.”

“And?”

“Everyone shows some subtle changes in processing patterns throughout the cortex. Spock’s I can’t really decipher, his neural patterns don’t resemble a human’s enough, and he never let me get a second baseline after he melded with Van Gelder, so I don’t know what changes might be residual from that. That was only about three weeks ago, after all.”

He sighed and turned to face Kirk square on. “You know your scans have been abnormal since Tantalus.”

“I know. And I keep telling you I’m fine. Just a little lightheaded once in a while, nothing I can’t handle.”

“The unusual patterns in your neuroscans are becoming stronger rather than weaker. I wish I knew what they were. In a lot of ways they resemble the changes I’m seeing in the rest of us since we left Talos. Could just be mental stress, I suppose.”

“Could it be since I spent so much more time interacting with the illusion of Commodore Mendez than anyone else?”

“Possibly.”

“Bridge to Captain Kirk,” Uhura’s voice came over the sickbay comm.

“Go ahead.”

“I have a response from Commodore Mendez. His orders are to return to Starbase 11 at maximum safe speed, where we will rendezvous with the Phoenix and receive further orders. You, Mr. Spock, and Dr. McCoy have been relieved of duty and the Commodore has placed placed Commander Scott in command. He asks whether we have heard from the Celeste since our arrival at Talos. Apparently they are four hours late for a check in, or were when this message was sent. I informed them of the time of the last transmission we received.”

“Acknowledged,” Kirk said. “Have we been confined to quarters or explicitly excluded from any part of the ship?”

“No, sir. Just relieved of command. Dr. McCoy has not been barred from sickbay in light of our current shortage of medical personnel, just passed over in the command chain for Mr. Scott.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” He turned to McCoy. “I guess that means the three of us can work full time on figuring out how to determine what’s real and what isn’t.”

“I’m thrilled.” The doctor deadpanned. “We do have one lead, presuming we can trust it. Overwhelming emotion, rage specifically, interfered with the illusions.”

Kirk turned to him. “So, do you think you were angry enough at Spock just now to assure us that he’s real?”

“I wasn’t really...no. I was. I don’t think I have ever been that pissed at him before. He may have condemned himself to death and us along with him and for what?” He sagged back into his chair. “He had better have a better explanation for not talking to us than he’s already given.”

“At least we can be a little more sure he’s really him.”

“I’d almost prefer he wasn’t.” McCoy swiveled his screen to face him and pulled out a stylus. “I think if we’re going to use overwhelming emotion to test reality, we should induce rage artificially, to have better control over it. I’ll start figuring out drug cocktails for us and for Spock that will have the desired effect.”

“While you’re at it, could you take some scans of crewmembers who had no contact with Pike or Mendez, for comparison?”

“Will do. In the meantime, go get some rest. I’ll let you know when Spock is ready to talk to us.”

Kirk nodded acknowledgement, knowing that instead of resting he would probably pace his quarters while his headache grew up behind his eyes and had little baby headaches to keep it company.

Scotty met him on the way to his quarters. “Captain,” he said. “I’m sorry about…”

“No matter. I trust you with this ship more than I trust anyone else right now. Just because Spock and I aren’t on duty doesn’t mean we can’t keep working on the problem. We’ll have some reports you can choose to send to Starbase 11 in a few hours.”

“Aye,” Scotty said.

“And Scotty, talk to the doctor about the neuroscan results. You may want to consider passing command to someone who never had contact with Talos.”

“I’d rather be down with the engines anyway,” Scotty said, then rushed off down the hall toward the Bridge, muttering. “Pass off this whole mess to Sulu in a hot minute.”

Kirk palmed open the door to his quarters, head already throbbing. He thumped down onto the end of his bed, pulled off his boots and dress uniform, and threw them all into the ‘fresher as though a change of clothes would let him start the day over. He’d like to start the week over. He pulled on a fresh uniform shirt, then gingerly lay back on the bed. Migraine spots dotted the white ceiling with ultraviolet bruises. He really ought to do something about that, but he was too spent to care.


	2. The Evil Genius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Enterprise Crew begin to discover the extent to which their perceptions were tampered with.

Spock took a seat at the conference table between Lieutenants Sulu and Ruiz, conscious of a desire not to invade Kirk or McCoy’s personal space after his recent betrayal and knowing that he might never earn back their trust.

Scott was visibly uncomfortable in his new role. He swiveled from side to side in the chair as he spoke and appeared unable to determine what to do with his hands. “I realize it is irregular for officers who have been relieved of command to attend staff meetings,” He said, for benefit of the recording device on the table, “however, Captain Kirk, First Officer Spock, and Chief Medical Officer Leonard McCoy are present as a source of information on our current situation and because at this time we can’t be sure our orders are authentic. Mr. Sulu and Ms. Ruiz will become the acting captain and first officer in the event I am also compromised.” He turned to McCoy. “Dr. McCoy, you took scans of all of us. Did you find out anything useful?”

McCoy pulled up the data on his pad. “Everyone on the ship who saw Talosian projections shows minor changes in their neuroscans as compared to their recorded baselines, including Spock. The humans, with the exception of the captain, show changes which are similar to each other in type and degree. I can’t really compare Spock’s scans to anyone else’s, since his neurology’s already pretty different. The captain’s scans have been abnormal since he was subjected to the neural neutralizer on Tantalus, and continue to become more so, but so far he reports only minor symptoms.” 

The slight emphasis on the word “reports,” accompanied by a brief flick of the eyes in Kirk’s direction did not escape Spock’s notice. 

McCoy continued, “I tested six other crewmembers who did not see illusions, including Mr. Sulu and Ms. Ruiz. Their scans do not show the changes that ours have.”

Scott nodded understanding. “In your medical opinion, should all affected crewmembers be relieved of duty?”

McCoy set the data pad down on the table. “No, but if the scans don’t normalize in the next day or two, I’d revisit the possibility.”

Mr. Scott nodded acknowledgement of McCoy’s report, then scrolled down his datapad with a theatrical hand. “I thought I’d begin,” he said, his gaze touching on the captain, Spock, and McCoy and moving to encompass Uhura, Sulu, and Ruiz, “by reading the text of General Order Seven, as obtained from the ship’s computers.”

“I do not see the purpose of reiterating the text of an order we have quite evidently violated,” Spock said. He should allow Mr. Scott to establish his own command style, but they already knew he had broken a death penalty order, THE death penalty order, and none of them needed to have that fact repeated over and over.

Scott shook his head. “I think you need to hear this, Mr. Spock. So. General Order Seven,” Scott read, “All Starfleet officers shall maintain complete and accurate records of missions and other on-duty activites, and shall submit these records in a timely manner. So, I’ll agree we’ve all fallen short, especially as far as that timely manner part is concerned…”

“Wait, there’s no General Order Seven?” Kirk said.

Scott shook his head. “Not regarding Talos IV. In fact, aside from long range telescopic surveys Starfleet has no records of the planet at all. Enterprise records include telemetry and basic planetary data from Enterprise’s visit thirteen years ago, but none of that data was ever uploaded to Memory Alpha, despite a refit two years ago, when that data should have been automatically collected. There isn’t even a notation that anyone went down to the surface.”

“Mr. Scott, you were also a member of the Enterprise crew when we first encountered Talos,” Spock said. “Do you recall the events that transpired?”

“Oh, aye, I do. I remember modifying the phaser cannon Number One took down to the planet’s surface to try to free Captain Pike. My report exists in my personal records, but apparently I never uploaded it. And I turn in my reports consistently and on time, unlike some people.”

Kirk and McCoy, both perpetually behind on their paperwork, ignored Scott’s insinuation. Kirk said, “So the Talosians altered our perceptions in order to prevent Starfleet from becoming aware of their presence. The question is, why?”

“I’m going to stop you right there, Captain, because there’s more information you need before we start to speculate.” Scott gestured toward Uhura. “Once I found the discrepancy with General Order Seven, I had Uhura check every documented event that precipitated Spock’s decision to bring the ship to Talos, starting with Pike’s injury.”

Uhura nodded and turned to Spock, her face grim. “I’m sorry, Spock. Captain Pike was never exposed to delta rays.”

Spock recalled the image of the captain’s ruined face, burned into his memory. “Please explain.”

Uhura placed an image up on the other two screens conference room screens. “This is a video record taken in Sickbay 4 days ago.” In the video Pike slouched in a support chair, attended to by McCoy, but his face was unmarked and his expression was entirely blank. “Thirty-two days ago, Captain Pike was assisting in repairs to a damaged station on the bridge of the Curiosity following a near miss with a Class 4 cosmic string remnant. He made an error in connecting the power relays and received a severe electrical shock. The physical damage to his nervous system was repaired within hours, and Pike was expected to make a full recovery, but for unknown reasons he failed to do so and remained catatonic, unable to communicate with the outside world in any way, despite having nearly normal brain activity.”

Spock’s hands tightened involuntarily on the edge of the table. “I need a moment,” he said. He tried to stand, but his legs would not obey him and so he sat, frozen to his seat, unable to look away from the image of his former captain. His heart raced in his side. There was a sharp report whose source he could not immediately identify. He looked down to see a chunk of the table top snapped free and blood trickling from his palm where he had been cut by its sharp edge.

McCoy jumped up to assist him. “No, doctor, please,” he said. The doctor paused just long enough for Spock to pull his hand away.

“You’re bleeding.”

“I am capable of attending to such a minor wound myself.” He turned his hand over, palm up, and watched the dark drops spot the table while he attempted to reassert control. “We must turn the ship around,” he said, his voice steady.

Scott shook his head. “We cannae do that, Mr. Spock. We’d be flying straight into a trap.”

Words tumbled from his mouth without conscious thought. “Then let me return alone.”

“Spock.” Kirk’s voice cut through the haze in his mind. “The Talosians went to an awful lot of trouble to obtain Captain Pike. He may not be exactly safe, but they will keep him alive. We need to figure out how to see through the Talosians illusions consistently before we try to rescue him or we just give the Talosians four hundred more captives and a starship.”

Spock took a careful breath. They were not going to abandon Pike to the Talosians. 

Scott said, “Back to the question of why. We know that the Talosians allowed the Enterprise to leave thirteen years ago without incident, but extended their influence to prevent their presence from becoming known to the Federation. It seems likely as well that they were able somehow to reach into Pike’s mind from a distance of over twenty light years to take advantage of his injury.”

“Given their capacity for illusion, they may have caused Pike to make the mistake that caused his injury in the first place,” Spock noted. His rage was cooling, not growing less, but settling into his brain like ice. It was his fault, he thought. He should have known. He should have at least been more suspicious of the Talosians’ motives.

“Why did they go to all the trouble to bring us to Talos, only to let us go?” Kirk asked.

“Maybe Vina just wanted Pike back,” Kirk suggested.

“Maybe they were testing us, to see what they could get us to do,” McCoy added.

“Perhaps we have not left Talos,” Spock said.

Everyone at the table was silent for over a minute. Kirk broke the silence. “How would we know?”

Spock considered. Perhaps his control was the problem. “If what we think we know about the Talosians is to be believed, rage and hate can drive them out. I believe that at this moment, if I were to release my controls, my feelings would be more than sufficient.” It occurred to him at that moment that he had admitted to strong emotion in front of several of his crewmates, then, looking down at his hand and the mangled table, he considered that the admission was superfluous under the circumstances.

“Do it, then.” Kirk said.

“This room would look the same regardless of whether we are in orbit or not.” He turned to Scott. “If we are still in orbit around Talos, the stellar field as seen from the observation deck will be static. If not, I will see streaking consistent with travel at high warp.”

“I’ll go with you,” Kirk said.

“That would not be wise. I could injure you.”

“You shouldn’t be alone,” he said in a tone that precluded argument.

“Very well.” Spock stood and strode out of the conference room, not waiting for Kirk to follow, but hearing his and McCoy’s footsteps behind him. They entered the turbolift.

“And what exactly do we do if we’re still in orbit around Talos?” McCoy challenged.

The turbolift doors opened, and Kirk led the way to the observation deck. “Bones, have you found a way to make up a shot to artificially induce a state of rage and keep us there?”

“I have, but I can’t guarantee we won’t all end up at each other’s throats.” The doctor leaned against the opposite wall between the plantings.

The observation deck was empty except for the three of them, the stars streaking by as they should if the ship was traveling at high warp. “Gentlemen,” Spock said, in order to gain their attention. “I recommend you remain out of reach.” He stood before the window, eyes fixed on the streaking stars, and before he allowed himself to feel the depth of his rage and guilt for what he had been tricked into doing to the man who had been a second father to him, he knew that he wanted the stars to be still. If they were still orbiting Talos, they would not have to leave Pike behind.

The anger welled up of its own accord, directed at the Talosians for their deception, at himself for being so easily fooled, at Kirk and McCoy for falling for the deception as much as he had, for failing to stop him. The stars continued to streak across the window, their paths unaffected by his rage. He slammed his fists into the transparent aluminum. He could hear screaming, a wild, animal sound. Familiar hands wrapped around his biceps, holding him fast, he could feel Kirk’s concern directly, wrapped around a core of righteous anger directed at whoever would hurt Pike….no, at whoever would hurt Spock. 

A hypospray hissed against his throat, his vision darkened, and a second pair of hands reached around his sides to lower him gently to the deck.


	3. Trojan Horse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evidence mounts that the plot to return Pike to Talos is not an isolated incident.

The USS Yorktown screamed through space, skirting uncomfortably close to a hazardous eddy in subspace in order to keep the maximum distance it could between itself and the Talos system. Captain Una felt a bump and the ship jerked forward once, then continued steadily onward. She tapped a button on the arm of her command chair. “Faraday, what’s going on down there?”

“Hiccup in the warp engines. Already on it.”

“Good to hear. I don’t want to spend any more time in this system than we have to,” Captain Una reminded him. She was deeply uncomfortable with the route helmsman Tyler had laid out for her. It ran, in her opinion, perilously close to Talos IV, a planet she had nearly been trapped on over a decade ago. Despite Captain Pike’s recommendation, Starfleet had apparently not even deemed it worthy of a nav warning, and the distress call from the small colony almost directly on the opposite side of the system had been undeniably urgent. 

Ordinarily, she would spend the hour or so while the ship passed within the system’s heliopause catching up on reports, but today she kept vigilant, maintaining her attention by strolling about the bridge to check on her subordinates and keep tabs on the readings from each station. Once, she had to correct a minor navigation error. 

A planet loomed up on the main screen, so close it was impossible to believe that they had not seen it coming. They could drop into a parking orbit around the thing. “Helm, what’s going on?” she said. “Tyler?”

“I followed the coordinates you approved, captain,” he said. “There’s not supposed to be a planet here.”

“Full about!” she shouted. The helmsmen moved to obey and the ship lurched as though hit by a phaser blast or a midsized meteor. The hum of the warp engines abruptly ceased.

Chief Engineer Faraday commed from the engine room. “We’ve got a mess down here, at least three crewmen down, engines are ripped to shreds!”

“Get on top of it. We are not staying anywhere near this planet.”

“Where are we?” her navigator, a woman of barely nineteen, asked.

“Talos IV.” She took a deep, slow breath. “I will destroy this ship before I put a single man or woman down there.”

“Faraday, get me power. We need to get away from this planet as soon as possible,” she called down to Engineering.

There was no immediate answer. Lewis looked up from his station. “Our orbit is starting to decay. Controls are not responding.”

“Faraday, what’s your status? Faraday. Engineering.” She turned to the navigator. “Get down to engineering and report back as quickly as you can.” She tilted her head toward Lewis. “How long before we can’t maintain orbit?”

“Unless impulse power is restored, sixty-five minutes. We’re ballistic at present.”

Her first officer approached her. “We may have to evacuate the ship if we can’t restore power.”

“Not to the surface,” Una insisted. “The natives of this planet are powerful telepaths, capable of producing illusions that are almost impossible to distinguish from reality. They hold other species captive for their own amusement.”

Commander Kshir hissed under her breath. “I see. You have been here before. How did you escape the first time?”

“They let us go. They said they had no use for creatures with such a hatred of captivity.” Their change of heart had seemed abrupt even then. She had confided her suspicions to Pike when they returned to the ship, and it had become part of the report to Starfleet, for all the good it did.

“Then despite their power, they are not our enemies. We might be able to safely accept their aid.” Kshir turned back to regard the planet turning below them. 

“I do not trust them.”

Kshir’s tail flipped up, showing her exasperation. “Do you distrust them so much that you would condemn four hundred people to certain death?”

The comm chimed, and Faraday’s voice sounded on the bridge. “We’ve got no engines. The explosion took out the warp drive and propagated through the impulse engines. We’ve got enough residual battery power to run life support for a few hours, but that’s all.” 

Una's first officer prowled the perimeter of the bridge, her tail whipping back and forth in anxious arcs. the captain stepped into her path. “Kshir, even if I were inclined to give the Talosians the benefit of the doubt, the sudden appearance of the planet, here, at the same moment as the engines fail? I cannot put that down to coincidence.”

“You think this is a trick.”

“I do. And I’m not leaving the ship.”

The Caitian stifled a snarl. “Will you allow your crew to decide for themselves whether to face certain death or the risk of capture by an alien civilization that may or may not be benevolent?”

Captain Una sagged into her seat. “If I say no, I am the only person qualified to make that decision, what will you do?”

Kshir tossed her mane irritably. “I will consult with Dr. Hasan and Lt. Commander Faraday, presuming he yet lives, and will have you removed from command. You may have the privilege of going down with your ship, but you will not take the rest of us with you.”

“As you wish. I will await the results here.” Una perched on the edge of her chair, her eyes fixed on the image of Talos on the viewscreen.

*

Kirk found himself pacing sickbay again while he waited for the sedative McCoy gave Spock to wear off. McCoy had jumped the gun with the hypospray, and his first officer had fallen unconscious before telling them the results of his experiment. Were they on their way home, or still in orbit around Talos?

Finally, Spock stirred. His eyes opened and he moved smoothly to a sitting position on the biobed as though he had merely been resting his eyes. “We are en route to Starbase 11, as we appear to be.”

“Well, I suppose that’s one piece of good news,” Kirk said. Spock’s lips pinched together slightly, and the fine vertical line between his eyes became more pronounced. It was a face he only made when wounded and in pain. “I’m sorry, Spock. We will find a way to return for Captain Pike.”

Spock cast his eyes briefly in the direction of the floor before replying. “I appreciate your assurances, but I realize that a return may be beyond our power. Have we received any further messages from Starfleet?”

“Dr. McCoy and I just submitted our full reports. We have to comply with the real General Order Seven, after all. The Celeste is still out of contact. I think at this point we have to assume it is in the hands of the Talosians.”

McCoy, noting that Spock was awake, walked up to both of them and ran a medical tricorder over Spock. “You’re fine, just don’t stand up too fast.”

Spock stood and took a moment to straighten his uniform. “Captain, I recommend we advise Acting Captain Scott to attempt to reach Captain Una on the USS Yorktown as soon as possible.”

“Why?”

“A moment.” Spock pivoted to McCoy. “Doctor, you have been able to examine Captain Pike’s actual medical records. In your opinion, is it possible his symptoms could have been caused by a Talosian mental attack?”

“Well, an illusion would certainly explain the error he made repairing the bridge station. The catatonia...what we saw suggested that the Talosians could not control motor functions, only what the senses received. But if he were rendered blind, deaf, insensible to touch...if he were in complete sensory deprivation, he would have no feedback, no way to know whether he moved or spoke. It’s a shame you didn’t meld with him before you dragged us all off to Talos.”

Again Spock’s facial muscles tightened as though he had been struck. “I know.”

Neither McCoy nor Spock had provided Kirk a detailed description of what had actually transpired between Spock and Dr. Van Gelder while he had been on Tantalus, and when asked, McCoy had just thrown up his hands and muttered about crazy Vulcan mind-voodoo and nobody ever telling him anything. He hadn’t screwed up the courage to ask Spock about it at all yet. “Why didn’t you?” he found himself asking.

“Have you read my report, Captain?”

“I read through it once,” he admitted.

Spock nodded, tolerant as usual of Kirk’s lack of an eidetic memory. “My meld with Dr. Van Gelder occurred after I was initially contacted by the Talosians. A few days after he left for Tantalus I received a message from the colony, which I have since determined to have been illusory, that he had suffered serious ill effects that were not immediately apparent. I decided that I would not attempt to meld with a human again unless and until I was able to ensure that to do so would not cause harm.”

“Thorough bastards, aren’t they,” McCoy remarked.

“Indeed. The Talosians were able to produce these effects in both Pike and myself at distances of many light years, despite Pike having little or no telepathic sensitivity and despite my maintenance of heavy shields both during my first visit to the planet and subsequently, to the best of my knowledge, until twenty one days ago. It stands to reason that they might carry some kind of link to other persons who were on the Enterprise crew at the time, and even more so to those to whom they projected illusions.”

Kirk nodded his understanding. “So you think Captain Una could be induced to fly straight to Talos and take the whole crew of the Yorktown right along with her.”

“Precisely.”

“I’ll pass along your recommendation to Mr. Scott. Since we’re not on duty, after all.” Kirk thought for a moment. “How did they project the illusion of Commodore Mendez into my mind? I’ve never been anywhere near Talos.”

“That is a most disturbing question, captain. Neither you nor Dr. McCoy had been near Talos at that time. When the Talosians suggested providing a decoy Mendez to occupy you while I commandeered the Enterprise, I asked them, and they merely told me it was no trouble. At the time I saw no reason to press the issue.”

“Mendez was the one who suggested that we follow you in the shuttlecraft,” Kirk noted.

Spock stared at him without blinking. “I thought you had taken it upon yourself to follow.”

“No. I mean, it might have occurred to me a moment later, but he started for the shuttle bay while I was still standing in his office trying to believe what you had just done. It came as something of a surprise.”

“Then the Talosians wanted you aboard the ship. It seems important that we ascertain their reasoning.” 

It felt like they were going to drive themselves mad trying to figure out the motives of aliens with such a different mindset from their own, but they needed to in order to figure out how to respond. Kirk had been brought along despite Spock’s desire to insulate him from his actions, and the Enterprise had been released to return to Starbase 11, where it seemed that the Celeste had not. Seemed.

“Dr. McCoy, would you take a measure of serum and a counteragent and have Lt. Uhura check again for messages from the Celeste and verify our contacts with Starbase 11?”

“I’ll have to run it by the Acting Captain,” McCoy noted.

“Yes, yes, of course, run it by Scotty. We’ll wait here for you.”

*

“Commodore Mendez, I have an incoming message from the Enterprise.” 

José Mendez tapped his screen to activate his comm. “Thank you, Ms. Piper, I’ll listen to it in here.”

He’d received the first round of reports from the senior staff a few hours before, detailing interference by powerful telepathic aliens with unknown motives. Too powerful. He had forwarded those reports to Starfleet Intelligence and expected their representatives to arrive within a day. Perhaps they could help him sort this mess out. 

He keyed up the latest message from the Enterprise. “This is Acting Captain Montgomery Scott of the USS Enterprise. We recommend you try to contact everyone who landed on the surface of Talos thirteen years ago. I’ve attached a list. Captain Una of the USS Yorktown would be my highest priority. ”

He paused the message. “Piper, could you find me the current location of the USS Yorktown?”

“The Yorktown is on routine patrols on the edge of this sector. Why?”

“See if you can reach them.”

“Yes, sir.”

He turned back to the message at hand. Scott continued. “Let’s see, what else do we know? Strong emotions like anger and hate should cut through the illusions. We know the Talosians captured Pike originally in part for entertainment and in part for labor. We can assume they’re still motivated by the same desires. We also know they planned to breed humans to build a captive population on their planet. I have attached further reports from the captain, Commander Spock, and Dr. McCoy. Commander Spock recommends that you contact Ambassador Sarek and Adept T’Pau on Vulcan for technical advice. Scott out.”

Mendez leaned back in his chair. Sirens. He was dealing with sirens, tricking ships into their lair. The Celeste had likely fallen into their clutches, and they might be able to take the Yorktown as well.

He keyed his comm again. “Piper, any word from the Yorktown?”

“No response.”

“Keep checking. Fifteen minute intervals until they respond.” Mendez shook his head. It could be something as minor as the Yorktown’s comm system being down for maintenance or a solar flare blocking transmissions. 

He switched channels. “Keep us posted, Enterprise. Maintain current speed and bearing until further orders.”

The real question was: If Talos was a planet of sirens, why had the Enterprise been let go?


	4. Reality Testing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirk's symptoms worsen, and Spock hypothesizes how the Mendez illusion could have spread to other members of the crew.

Kirk lay on his bed, legs crossed, arms crossed across his chest, half resting, half sulking. The imposed inactivity was getting to him. Scotty was up on the bridge, admittedly doing very little save for staring at the moving starfield and being injected with McCoy’s mood destabilizing cocktails at intervals. 

The stress of knowing that the shit was going to hit the fan when they reached the Starbase and not being able to do anything about it was making him physically sick, which was why he was lying on his bed blinking at purple migraine splotches in the middle of the damn day.

There was a knock at the door. “Come,” he said, then amended, “but keep the lights at thirty percent.”

McCoy entered quietly. “I brought a hypo for the migraine and the results of your latest neuroscan.”

“I’m guessing I don’t want to hear them.”

McCoy frowned, then pressed the hypo against Kirk’s throat. Kirk winced at the pressure and an accompanying wave of vertigo that left him queasier than he had been before the shot. He didn’t remember getting queasy from that particular medication before. “Probably not,” McCoy said. “The changes are still increasing, though the rate seems to have slowed a bit since yesterday.” The concern in McCoy’s voice was making him worry, an emotion he could not afford right now. “Are your symptoms still getting worse?”

Kirk chewed his lip. “Yeah. Today’s worse than yesterday.”

“You want to give me a rundown for my chart?”

“Not especially.” 

“It’s not really optional.”

“I know, I know.” Kirk forced himself to sit, keeping his head as still as possible until the room stopped pitching. “Okay, so the vertigo is worse today. Worse now than it was before you gave me the stuff for my migraine.”

“And the tinnitus?”

Kirk chewed his lip while trying to find the right words. “It’s more like murmuring or mumbling more than ringing. Like I’ve got a river running past my ears or I’m walking through a Starbase concourse with a lot of echoes, so all the voices add up and bounce around and turn into white noise.” He turned his head just a little to look at McCoy. “Huh. You must be an angel.”

McCoy leaned toward him, brow furrowed. The halo spread across his face like a slightly bluish caul. “Hey, you’re not getting all weird on me are you?”

“No,” Kirk reassured him quickly. “I’m just getting some odd visual disturbances. Probably because of the migraine. You’re sort of glowing is all.”

“Oh kay then.” McCoy fiddled with his data pad some more. “I’m checking you in as soon as we get to Starbase 11. We need to get to the bottom of these symptoms. I’m wondering if they have something to do with the Talosians feeding you illusions from so far away. Maybe they pushed too hard and did some damage.”

Whatever the cause, everything felt wrong. He thought he could have probably worked around it, might not notice it so much if he had something to do, anything else to think about, but all he had was the impending collision with the consequences of Spock’s actions. He needed to be back to normal or at least faking it convincingly by the time they got to Starbase 11. Spock’s career, maybe even his freedom, depended on it.

*

Spock ran into McCoy in the corridor outside sickbay. “Aren’t you off duty too?” the doctor said. “Shouldn’t you be in your quarters?”

“I have merely been relieved of command, not confined to quarters. Mr. Scott made it clear that I was permitted to work in the lab, just as you are permitted to continue to use the facilities in sickbay to assist our attempts to circumvent the Talosians’ abilities.” He paused to search for the correct phrasing. “How is the captain?”

“Jim? A little worse than yesterday. Now he’s seeing things. Well, not things, just some visual ghosting. It’s almost as if the Talosians knocked all his senses off kilter so they’ve started making stuff up. At the rate he’s going, he’ll be in no condition to be debriefed when we get to Starbase 11. He could lose his command for good.”

That was an unacceptable turn of events, especially given that Spock had been its proximate cause. “Doctor,” Spock began. “I have been in communication with the Vulcan High Council regarding the Talosian situation. I would like to obtain the opinion of one of the adepts regarding Jim’s, I mean the captain’s, condition.”

McCoy shrugged. “You’ll have to get permission from him. I gave him a shot for his headache. He should be up and around by now.” He started to walk away toward sickbay. “And don’t you go getting any funny ideas. He’s had enough aliens messing around in his head, you got me?”

“I had no such intention.” Even knowing that Van Gelder had not in fact suffered brain damage as a result of his intervention, the possibility had given him pause. He resolved to act cautiously in future, especially with regard to the captain, with whom he already shared a connection that he had only recently become aware of and hesitated to acknowledge.

A cold knot formed low in his chest. He stifled its emotional content, but forced himself to analyze what he had observed. Vulcans often spontaneously developed weak telepathic connections to people with whom they spent a considerable amount of time. He had thought the shields he had maintained so scrupulously would prevent such connections from forming, but he had recently become aware of a connection to the captain. The other members of the crew with whom he spent the most time were McCoy, Scotty, and Uhura, each of whom had experienced illusions projected by the Talosians. Could the Talosians have been using bonds he had subconsciously created to find and connect to the other members of the crew? 

He changed course to head for the bridge. He needed to speak with the acting captain. McCoy fell into step with him. “Did you wish to speak to me, doctor?”

McCoy said, “I thought you were going to see the Captain.”

“I thought you were returning to sickbay.”

“It’s time for me to head up to the bridge and administer the anger cocktail.”

Spock nodded. “I, too, have an issue to discuss with the bridge crew, though perhaps not while they are under the influence of your potions.”

When the turbolift doors opened onto the bridge, Spock paused there to wait for Scott’s permission to enter. Scott was not in the command chair, but sprawled on the floor, buried to the waist in the guts of the instrument panel at Spock’s station. The doctor crossed the bridge to address Scott’s legs. “It’s time for your injection.”

“All right, all right, give me a minute.” The thunk, followed up with invective was an inevitable consequence of Scott trying to extricate himself from the cabinet quickly. 

“Spock’s waiting for you on the turbolift.”

Scott scrambled to his feet, evidently having forgotten that at present he was the ranking officer. “Commander Spock!” he said, running a hand over his hair, which only served to ruffle it further.

“I wish to speak to you and Lt. Uhura privately at your earliest convenience,” Spock said. “Dr. McCoy, this concerns you as well.”

“Oh, aye, of course. Mr. Sulu, you have the conn.” He headed for the briefing room, Uhura and McCoy following.

As soon as Spock caught up, the engineer said, “I can’t bear to just sit in the chair and do nothing, so as long as I’m up here, I’m overhauling the bridge stations. Upgrades, you know.”

Spock considered informing Scott that his activities on the bridge could distract him in an emergency, but declined to do so. Under the circumstances, each member of the crew had to have the latitude to manage stress in their own way. Each of them took a seat.

“I have discovered a possible route through which the Talosians might have accessed the minds of the captain and yourselves.”

“Well, out with it,” Scott said. “Don’t sit there squirming like a guilty schoolboy.”

“Without my conscious awareness, I appear to have established a familial telepathic bond with the captain, simply by virtue of our proximity over time.”

Uhura nodded. “No surprise there.”

“Surprise there!” Scott said. “How exactly would that have happened. You’re not…”

“Vulcans are touch telepaths,” Uhura said.

“Really?” Scott folded his arms across his chest suspiciously.

Spock muttered, “It is not something frequently discussed with offwordlers.” The conversation seemed to be escaping his control.

Uhura rolled her eyes at the engineer. “Have you even read the Enterprise NX-01 mission logs?”

“I read the parts relevant to the ship’s systems.” Uhura punched Scott in the shoulder and Scott grinned back at her. “What? I can’t be expected to know everything like you.”

Uhura favored Spock with a gentler smile. “So what might a,” she paused an instant longer than she should have, “familial bond you’ve established with the captain have to do with the rest of us?”

Spock was beginning to realize that these sorts of awkward conversations were likely to occur with greater frequency from now on. “You and I have collaborated in our free time on musical endeavors. Mr. Scott and I have been crewmates for fifteen years and have worked closely on a number of projects during that time. Dr. McCoy and I have spent considerable time in each other’s company during the performance of our duties as well. For each of you, as well as up to six other members of the crew, the amount of contact would be sufficient to establish a weak, subconscious link.”

“So there’s nothing you could have done to prevent this from happening?” Scott asked.

Spock felt himself shifting his weight uncomfortably and tightened his controls on his body’s responses. “I thought I had taken sufficient precautions. I was incorrect, at least where the Captain is concerned. I have yet to attempt to verify any other possible connections.”

Scott paced across the conference room, turned on his heel, and paced back to stop in front of Spock. “What about Chapel, Davies, Veldelo, and Parker? They all saw illusions too.”

“An excellent question. I could surmise that as Davies, Veldelo and Parker only saw illusory images while in the same room with me, the Talosians may have been able to project through me directly. At the time, I was unaware of their duplicity and was collaborating with their efforts. As for Chapel...she is one of the six others I mentioned.”

“So you’re saying the Talosians may have gotten at all of us through you,” Scotty said.

“Yes. I submit that, therefore, I be ejected from the ship, or failing that, placed in biostasis to remove the Talosians’ conduit.”

“No.”

“Mr. Scott, I am a hazard to this ship and its crew.”

Scott crossed deliberately into Spock’s personal space. “I will consider placing you in biostasis if and only if any evidence of new illusions occurring since we left Talos occurs. In the meantime…”

“Sir,” Spock tried to interject.

“In the meantime,” Scott continued, “start thinking of that giant Vulcan brain of yours as a Talosian detector. If they try to use you to get to us, you should know about it. Do some damn research and figure out how.”

Spock felt his shoulders drop in defeat. “Mr. Scott, have you been spending your free time with the doctor?”

“I resent that,” McCoy noted, his hypo still tucked under one of his crossed arms. “At least it’s easy to tell he’s real, he keeps pissing everybody off all the time. Scotty, you’re first.”

“I hate these things,” Scott groused, but obediently stilled long enough for McCoy to administer the dose. “All right, gotta check the telemetry, the star charts, the engine power curve, the fucking power relays, damn balloon headed fuckers making extra work for me...never wanted to be a fucking starship captain…” Scott’s fists clenched and unclenched. It was disturbing to see Scott skirting the edge between focused anger and complete loss of control, even though he knew the engineer was cultivating the emotion intentionally. “Out of my way, you!” he said, rushing in Spock’s general direction so that Spock had to step quickly out of his way and even so, Scott’s elbow brushed against his abdomen for a moment and the force of his rage made Spock catch his breath. Between Tantalus and the Talosians, his shields were never going to be the same as they had been. “This is all your fault, I hope you know,” Scott snapped.

He knew just fine. “Doctor,” he said, raising his voice slightly to be heard over Scott’s ranting. “I have matters to discuss with Jim.”

McCoy nodded and waved dismissal over his shoulder. Spock retreated from the bridge, not wanting to see Uhura reduced to that state. At least pacing around shouting at inanimate objects was something Scotty did with some regularity. He wasn’t certain he had ever seen Uhura admit to anger. In some ways, human women were still socialized to behave more like Vulcans than human men were. It was as though humans had, rather than suppressing all emotion, divided up emotions into those acceptable for women and those acceptable for men. They claimed to have improved in that regard over the last couple of centuries. If so, the contrast in behavior between males and females must have been quite jarring to observe for the ancestor of his who had established first contact with humans so long ago.

He stopped at the door to the turbolift, wondering if his hasty retreat were cowardice rather than a desire to meet promptly with the captain. “Lieutenant Uhura, do you wish for me to leave or to stay?”

“Whatever for?” she said. Her voice, as always, made anything she said sound like music.

It took him nearly three quarters of a second to compose an appropriate response. “I assumed you might not want me to witness your behavior under the influence of the doctor's drug. However, in the event that you identify an illusion, I could be sedated immediately, and it would then be possible to test whether I am indeed serving as a conduit.”

“That’s an excellent idea, Mr. Spock,” she said, flashing a smile at him. “You’ll have to forgive me for my behavior, though.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Spock said. He took a seat at the helm so that if he were to require sedation he would not have quite so far to fall.

McCoy first administered the antagonist to Scott, who swayed on his feet for a moment before collapsing into a chair. “Och, I think coming down is the worst part. You think I’d be overstepping if I called Yeoman Allen up here for some coffee?”

“Of course not,” Uhura replied. “The reason senior staff have yeomen assigned is to make sure they take care of themselves while they’re taking care of everyone else. I know for a fact Yeoman Allen would like to help you out more than she does. You’re too independent.”

“Why don’t I have a yeoman?” McCoy complained while changing out the cartridge on his hypospray.

“Because Christine’s the only person alive who’ll put up with you. Except for the captain, and he’s got too much to do to keep you supplied with coffee and styluses. Now let’s get this over with.” Uhura presented herself to the doctor for the injection. “I’m reading all the subspace traffic,” she reminded herself.

Ten seconds passed, but the only outward change in Uhura was a stilling, as if the music that surrounded her every word and movement had left her. She stalked over to her station, frowning, and inserted her earpiece. The only outward indication of her agitation was her fingers drumming on the edge of the console.

McCoy had moved to a spot behind Spock’s shoulder. Scott was still slumped in his seat, unembarrassed to display his body’s delayed reaction to McCoy’s drug cocktails.

“No changes,” Uhura reported in a strangely clipped tone. “We’re still to hold course for Starbase 11. The Captain, Mr. Spock and Dr. McCoy are to be delivered to Starfleet intelligence for questioning on arrival. Starfleet Command has not responded to our requests for information on the status of the Celeste or the Yorktown. Now get me that antidote.”

“Yes, ma’am,” McCoy said, crossing the bridge to administer it. Afterward, her body drooped forward in much the same way as Scott’s had. She rested her chin on her hands. “I’ll ask Yeoman Allen to bring a cup of coffee up for each of you,” McCoy said. “Doctor’s orders.”

“Much appreciated,” Uhura replied.

Spock crossed to the turbolift. “I will investigate whether there is evidence for the hypothesis we discussed and submit a report.”

“Spock,” McCoy said.

He paused in the doorway. “Yes, doctor?”

“Don’t put anything in writing. Just tell me what you find out. I’ll make sure to pass it on to anyone who needs to know.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

*

The Captain was up, dressed, and showered when he answered the door to his quarters, but there were grayish shadows under his eyes. Light shining from his workstation indicated that he had been productively occupied. “Spock! How are you holding up?” he asked, stepping aside to invite him in.

Spock found himself momentarily unable to move. He was suddenly both frustrated and happy, neither of which emotion made the slightest sense to him. He asserted his controls, then belatedly tightened his shields as he realized the emotions flooding into his mind were not his own. What was yesterday a faint, familial bond now drew him to Kirk in a way he had not felt since he had shut his mother out long ago.

“Spock?” Concern rang both in Kirk’s voice and through their connection.

He entered Jim’s quarters. Jim closed the door behind them. “You look like I feel,” Jim said. 

“Indeed.” Spock took a seat. 

Jim settled onto the couch. “It was better when we had more to do. Now I’m just sitting around waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Spock nodded acknowledgement. “I wish to consult with an adept of the mind sciences concerning your current symptoms. She is the matriarch of my clan and a member of the Vulcan High Council.”

“And unlikely to have time for one human starship captain with a headache.”

“To the contrary. Starfleet Command’s silence on the fates of the Celeste and Yorktown strongly suggests that they have been captured by the Talosians. Make no mistake, Captain. The Talosians have declared war, and we are at the center of it.”

Jim sagged into the couch cushions slightly. “So you and Bones think the Talosians did something to me.”

“It is possible. It is most likely that they used me as the conduit through which they did so.”

“That would make a sort of sense, I suppose,” Kirk allowed. “You’re the only member of our crew who was part of the landing party when the Enterprise went to Talos the first time, am I right?”

“Yes. Three members of those landing parties currently serve on the Yorktown, two have left Starfleet, and two died during the Klingon war. My question remains unanswered. May I communicate your situation and provide your records to the Lady T’Pau?”

“Yes, of course, that goes without saying. You up for a game?”

Spock felt his eyebrow lift at Kirk’s sudden change of subject. “Are you sure you are?”

“No, but I’ve got cabin fever and I’d rather not sit in here by myself and ruminate.”

“Has the doctor confined you to quarters?” Spock asked.

“No, but I’ve been having a little vertigo and I don’t want the crew to notice.”

“I see.” The last two days had seen the captain developing symptom after concerning symptom.

Kirk stood, took a step toward the cabinet where his chess set was kept, and stumbled, catching himself with one hand slapped hard against the wall. “See what I mean?” he said with a forced grin.

Kirk’s clumsiness was extremely unnerving despite the captain’s making light of it. “May I use your console while you set up the board?”

Kirk gestured his permission and Spock sent off the letter he had already composed to T’Pau, resolving not to leave the Captain alone at least until the next time the doctor was able to check in. They sat on opposite sides of the chessboard, Kirk’s attention divided between the pieces and Spock himself. The weight of his regard pulled on their rapidly strengthening bond so that he felt almost as though the room were tilted in Kirk’s direction. He could not imagine that Kirk could be unaware of it, but he had said nothing, and Spock did not intend to worry him with the matter.


	5. Crash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirk's neurological disorder catches up with a vengeance.

Kirk woke feeling like he might just be turning the corner. He was getting used to his body’s new habit of sending him imaginary sensations to process, the heaviness at the base of his skull, the walking into a full Starbase concourse sound in his ears, the weird way the floor seemed to tilt this way and that under his feet.

He rolled out of bed, making sure to use the wall to help him balance. He showered without incident, though his mind kept trying to convince him that the shower floor was tilted slightly toward the back. He dressed and shaved just like a person whose brain still functioned more or less normally. He was going to be fine. He had to be. They were arriving at Starbase 11 tomorrow and he needed to be at his best, or as close to it as possible, when the inevitable grilling from his superiors began.

He’d gotten up exceptionally early on purpose, in order to avoid anyone who might notice his uncertain movements. On the way to the cafeteria he ran into a knot of three red uniformed crewmen he thought he recognized from Security, probably coming off gamma shift, though it was hard to make out their faces. They didn’t have angelic halos, precisely; it looked more as though they were completely engulfed in flames that did not burn, but flickered and refracted around them in pastel colors. As they passed, the floor seemed to tilt precipitously toward the group. Kirk felt the shift coming and leaned nonchalantly against the wall as they passed, adding a slightly flirtatious smile and a nod, as though he were definitely not leaning against the wall because he could not trust himself to stand.

He rubbed the back of his neck as they receded down the hall. The cafeteria was mostly empty. He avoided a couple more stragglers from gamma shift grabbing a bite before bed and headed toward Spock, who was seated by the wall next to the replicators, a data pad in one hand, a cup of what was probably tea in the other. Spock was also glowing, in his case a pleasant orangey red, and bending the floor around himself, but he didn’t make him queasy the way everyone else seemed to.

McCoy’s menu plan at least still allowed him coffee, and he could have oatmeal and fruit or a vegetable omelet. With no bacon. He had used up his bacon allotment for the week days ago. He went for the omelet and took his tray over to Spock’s table, where he set it down, half expecting the coffee to spill. But he didn’t trip and that was great, because the last thing he wanted to do was make Spock worry about him more.

He slid into his seat, still aware of a need to have three points of contact at all times, two feet and a hand, one foot and two hands, in case the floor shifted under him again, which it did when a science ensign in blue passed behind him to return her tray to the recycler. “Morning, Spock,” he said in his best normal voice. Yep, feeling totally normal today, he told himself. Very, very normal.

Spock favored him with an excessively searching look that made Kirk feel almost as though he were in freefall. He stared down at his omelet in self defense. It was not sliding off the table. Everything was fine. “Captain,” Spock was saying.

“I’m fine. Just a little dizzy for a second. I’m good.” He wasn’t sure the omelet was going to stay down if he ate it, but he was ravenously hungry, enough so that he knew he had to eat or the weird physical effects he was experiencing would soon be the least of his problems. Small bites, he told himself. He sipped his coffee and took a small bite of rye toast, chewing thoroughly before swallowing. It stayed put, so he tried a small forkful of egg.

The last of the stragglers left the mess. “What are your plans for today?” Spock asked.

“Hmm? Oh, off to sickbay to get another neuroscan. I think I’m getting the hang of all these hallucinations or whatever they are. Thought I might hit the gym, get some exercise, practice walking around so I don’t look like there’s something wrong with me.”

“So the effects you are experiencing have not improved.”

He sighed around a bite of omelet. “No.”

“Are they more severe?”

Kirk shrugged. “There are more of them. They fill up a lot of my attention. But they don’t bother me as much now that I know what to expect from them, if you know what I mean.”

Spock was silent for half a minute, then asked, “Have I offended you in some way?”

“What? No, why?”

“Usually you look at me when I talk to you.”

“Bit dizzy is all. I’m sure it will pass,” Kirk said. He glanced up at Spock, but found he both desperately needed to look away and had to force his eyes back down to his own tray. He took a few more bites of omelet, excruciatingly aware that his every move was being watched. Getting up to return his tray took advance planning and the kind of attention he hadn’t had to allocate to simply moving around since the first time he piloted a shuttle. He stood, keeping one hand on the table. Next he lifted the tray, keeping one leg braced against the table and hoping his stance wasn’t too obvious. Then he walked the three steps to the recycling unit. He rested one hand on the rim of the recycling unit and placed the tray inside with the other. Finally, he leaned casually against the wall.

Spock picked up his tray and carried it to the recycler. The floor seemed to bend around him, as though he were a lead ball on a rubber sheet, the kind used to teach students about gravitational fields. Kirk was glad he’d chosen to lean against the wall. “I believe I will accompany you to sickbay. I have completed my work in the lab, and under the circumstances I do not wish to begin anything new.”

“I’ll be fine, Spock,” Kirk argued. He didn’t want to say that if Spock walked next to him he might hit the floor.

“I have matters to discuss with the doctor as well,” Spock countered.

Kirk crossed to the cafeteria door. The need to consciously correct for the spurious signals from his inner ear, both from Spock moving near him and from other, smaller shifts in his personal gravity took most of his attention. He had to consciously plan his path around tables and chairs, and it was a relief when they reached the hallway and he could place himself between Spock and the wall, trailing one forearm along the wall to help keep his balance. They had almost reached the turbolift when a large group of people heading for their stations passed them in the corridor, and Kirk’s vertigo flipped straight into a near blackout, as though he were dumped into a waterfall of light and noise. He stopped to press his entire body against the wall, facing outward with his eyes squeezed shut, only realizing how strange he must have looked after the group passed. They stopped a few paces beyond his location, where Spock was speaking to them, evidently encouraging them to move along. He focused on the floor and on keeping his omelet inside him. 

“Captain,” Spock was saying. “Do you require assistance?”

Kirk managed a convulsive headshake. He half walked, half dragged himself into the turbolift, allowing Spock to direct it to Sickbay. He wanted to say he had really been much better this morning. He wanted to say how weird it was that all of the strangeness he was experiencing seemed to be centered around people. But he had no words. It was as though he could not remember how to turn a thought into sounds that would come out of his mouth.

“We have arrived, Captain.” Kirk took a moment to work out how legs functioned. “Jim,” Spock said again, his voice echoing oddly in the small space.

He slid along the wall of the turbolift and into sickbay, where the placement of rolling carts and wall-mounted equipment forced him to abandon the wall and take a couple of swaying, unsupported steps into the room. A blue-white human torch approached, probably Bones, and he was instantly pulled two directions at once, like a ball perched at the top of a ridge between two deep valleys. Not wanting to fall, he settled onto his haunches and then sat, his body curling around itself. Spock and Bones’ voices reached his ears as if through water.

“What the hell happened?”

“I am uncertain.” A part of him registered the evasion in Spock’s reply.  
“Jim, I’m going to help you over to a biobed, so we can find out what’s wrong,” McCoy was saying and then he fell over a cliff into Niagara Falls without so much as a barrel, the noise was blinding, the colors hurt his ears, the light burned off his skin, and after an instant he stopped being entirely.

*

Leonard McCoy thought a flash-bang grenade had gone off in sickbay. Hands grabbed him under his arms to drag him across the floor and deposit him against a wall. As his ability to think clearly came back online, he said, “Are we under attack?” before opening his eyes on a completely undamaged, normal looking sickbay and Spock hovering over a biobed on which Kirk lay, clearly seizing.

McCoy had been trying to help Kirk stand when all hell broke loose. He stood himself, his vision darkening briefly, blinking away the rapidly fading headache that had led him to think of a flash-bang in the first place. Spock had evidently gotten Kirk to the biobed and turned on his side so he wouldn’t aspirate. Say what he wanted about the hobgoblin, at least he paid attention in first aid class.

“Hurry, doctor,” the Vulcan said.

His eyes focused on the twitching body on the biobed across the room. “He’s having a tonic-clonic seizure,” he told Spock. He pulled open a drawer to grab an ampule of anticonvulsant, jam it into the hypospray, and dial up the dose needed to quiet the storm in the captain’s brain.

As he reached to administer the drug at the carotid, Spock stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder, over his scrubs. “Do not touch him.”

“He’s seizing, Spock, this is just an anticonvulsant.” His brain, still reeling from whatever the hell had happened on the floor, abruptly caught up with him. “That--flashover. That was him! He knocked me out, didn’t he?” 

“Evidently, yes.” Spock held out his hand for the hypo.

Could Talosian mind-voodoo be contagious? Dammit dammit dammit. McCoy slapped the hypo into Spock’s palm. “You know where it goes?” 

“I have observed your technique on numerous occasions, Doctor.” He pressed the hypo to Kirk’s throat. When the Captain didn’t immediately still, he turned to McCoy. “What now?”

McCoy perused the readings on the biobed to assure himself that Jim wasn’t in any immediate danger. “We wait. It takes a couple of minutes to work. You keep an eye on him, I need to take another look at his old scans.” He turned the workstation to face him. “Assess neuroscans of Captain James T. Kirk for failure of antenna complex shunt.”

“Working. Cumulative neuroscans indicate likelihood of antenna complex shunt failure at 94%”

“Is there enough data to estimate the establishment curve?”

“Working. Establishment curve 80 to 85% complete. Diagnosis of decompensated Johannsen synesthesia 94% confirmed.”

Great, now he was going to have to deal with two of them. McCoy looked at Spock, standing stone still at Kirk’s bedside, his hands clasped tightly in front of him, the only outward sign of his intense distress the paleness of his knuckles. “Computer, given patient’s history and scans, when was the shunt compromised?”

“Eighty percent likelihood the compromising event immediately preceded the first neuroscan after baseline, twenty-three days ago. One hundred percent likelihood compromising event occurred within five days of that date.”

It took three minutes for the captain’s twitching to still, long enough that he got another good scan. “Add most recent scan and revise diagnosis.”

“Additional data confirms initial diagnosis. Patient suffers from decompensated Johannsen synesthesia.” McCoy rotated the screen out of his way.

“Spock. You can tell what’s wrong with the captain, can’t you.”

Spock continued to stare at the unconscious body on the biobed. “Humans are psi-null. It should not be possible.”

“Humans aren’t psi-null, we just have evolved mechanisms to block telepathic input below a certain threshold. Those mechanisms can and do fail from time to time. Jim’s have failed. Permanently.” Spock’s face contorted for a moment before he recovered himself and held it rigid. McCoy continued. “It wasn’t your doing in any way. It was the Tantalus device.”

Spock considered. “He is...highly sensitive. He has no defenses. No mental discipline or shields.”

“Then it’s a damn good thing you do. You’ll just have to get him up to speed.” Highly sensitive? McCoy wondered where his locum had put the Penrose machine during the debacle at the edge of the galaxy. He’d need to take an accurate esper rating from Kirk as soon as he woke up. 

Spock stared off into middle distance. “I cannot.”

“What the hell do you mean you cannot? Who the hell else is going to do it? Not me, that’s for sure!”

Spock crossed sickbay to study the knickknacks on the wall behind McCoy’s desk. “It would be inappropriate.”

McCoy wondered what he had done to deserve being saddled with the most stubborn member of the most stubborn species in the quadrant. “What, because he’s an outworlder? Gotta guard those cultural secrets I suppose, even if it kills the best friend you or I have ever had, or worse. I just caught a second of backlash from...whatever the hell that was. He’s living in that nightmare every minute.” McCoy got up into his face. “I thought you cared about him.”

Spock whirled on him, one arm coming up and for a moment McCoy thought he was going to strike him, but instead he dropped into a chair. He studied his hands, not steepled as usual, but pressed flat on his thighs, just above the knees. “I do not know what to do, nor how to begin.” His voice was soft, almost plaintive, and almost painfully human.

McCoy pulled up the other chair. “You’re scared,” he said, as gently as he could manage.

“I have little experience in these matters.”

“You managed all right with Van Gelder.”

“Doctor Van Gelder had at least as much experience with melds as I had at the time.”

McCoy took a few moments to process that datum. “How do you reckon that?”

“I did not pry into the details, but Dr. Van Gelder had participated in a meld on at least one prior occasion, possibly more. I had the impression that the circumstances were personal in nature. If he had been completely inexperienced, I doubt my attempt would have been successful.”

“So that must be how he knew to ask you.”

“Doubtless. The fact remains, however, that as of twenty-four days ago I had not participated in a meld since the age of seven, and in that instance I was guided by an adept. My training is as minimal as could be justified by my childhood instructor.”

So it was to be the blind leading the blind. Lovely. “Spock, we have a saying in medicine, or at least in medical school. See one, do one, teach one. Seems to me you’ve had your see one and your do one.” McCoy needed a drink or several. 

Spock cast a glance at the still form on the biobed.

“You can do this.” 

Spock sighed audibly. “Still I cannot.”

McCoy exploded out of his chair to pace the room, his frustration needing a physical outlet. “It’s bad enough already that you almost can’t make it worse, you’re a hell of a teacher, the whole science department says as much, and you’re already friends. What’s stopping you?”

“I have a regard for Jim that extends beyond friendship.” Spock stood and turned toward the door.

“Stop right there.” McCoy failed to resist the urge to roll his eyes. “Look. I know you have feelings for him. You’re just going to have to face up to them.” For a change.

“Doctor,” Spock started to protest.

McCoy cut him off. “Enough. Go to your quarters and meditate or whatever. I’ll have Jim moved to his quarters in an hour.”


	6. Becoming Other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirk awakens after his seizure and must come to terms with a fundamental change in who he is. Fortunately, Spock is there to help him figure things out.

Kirk’s internal clock felt off.  He was lying in bed with what felt like a monster hangover, though he knew he had not had anything to drink since Tantalus.  Had he slept through his alarm? The sensory disturbances were still getting worse, judging from the deep pit that seemed to have opened up to the left of his bed, suffused with a red-orange glow that bizarrely existed outside his normal field of vision.  Despite its strangeness, it was oddly warm and comforting, like a fire in a fireplace. Even the constant noise in his ears somewhat resembled the soft hiss and crackle of burning wood. 

He rolled gingerly onto the side facing the orange glow and opened his eyes.  Spock sat on a chair that had been pulled next to his bedside, eyes closed, apparently meditating.  Why was Spock in his quarters? Why did Spock look like the image of a Hindu deity, completely engulfed in a brilliant vermilion caul?  Kirk allowed himself to watch the other man for a moment, until he abruptly felt as though he were going to fall out of bed into Spock’s lap and startled violently.

“Captain, you are awake.”  Spock’s eyes opened.

“What are you doing in my quarters?”

Spock unfolded himself from his meditative posture, which must have been difficult to maintain on a swivel chair.  “Keeping watch, per Doctor McCoy’s orders. You had a tonic-clonic seizure this morning after breakfast. I was warned that you might experience some memory loss.”

“A seizure?  The last thing I remember is going to bed last night.”  He tried to sit up and found that he was indeed in his uniform, which he knew he had not worn to bed.  The room circled once around him, then settled down. He scooted himself into a seated position against the headboard.  “Any idea what brought it on? Or do I have to wait for Bones to come in and give me the rundown?”

“I will inform him that you have awakened.”  He flipped open his communicator, an odd choice for inside the ship.  “Doctor, the captain is awake. He has questions.”

“Make sure he eats something.  Or at least drinks something. If you think he can handle two of us in the room at the same time, I’ll be right down.”

“I do not wish to proceed without your assistance.”

“Fine.  I’ll be there in fifteen.”

Spock closed the communicator and turned back to Spock.  “Captain, I must cross the room to obtain food and drink for you.  I regret the discomfort this will cause.”

Kirk waved a dismissive hand, which he immediately used to grip the edge of the bed when Spock walked away and the room seemed to roll to his left, then back to his right as Spock returned, bearing a bottle of some bluish beverage and a bag of crackers.  He set them on the bedside table rather than handing them to Kirk directly. Kirk took a swig of the drink. It was blue flavored. What flavor exactly was blue? He took a closer look at the crackers. At least they were cheese crackers and not saltines, the official food of sick people.  He ate them obediently. “You are a very interesting color right now,” He remarked to Spock. “Kind of a mix of peachy pink and blood orange.”

“I am not, to my knowledge, orange.”

“You were redder when you were meditating.  Now you’re more like...peach. But still orangey red around the edge.”  He was trying to accustom himself to admitting that he was hallucinating.

Spock did not appear to know what to do with his admission.  After a moment, he said, “Are you suffering any other synesthetic effects of which I should be aware?”

Kirk parsed the question while he finished the last of the crackers.  He was absolutely certain that a synesthesia and a hallucination were different things, the former being when information acquired by one sense produced effects belonging to another, like seeing music, and the latter arising with no stimulus outside the person’s own mind.  Spock would not knowingly use the wrong word.

His door chimed.  “A moment,” Spock said, getting up again to answer the door.  This time, Kirk was expecting the wave of vertigo and managed to ride it as one might an amusement park attraction, at least until a second gravity well bent the room into a topology he hadn’t had to navigate since the first time he’d gone snowboarding.  A roiling, refracting mass of white, fading to periwinkle and deep blue-violet obscured Doctor McCoy to the point it was difficult to see him at all through it.

Oh.  Damn.  “Synesthetic effects.  All this stuff going on in my head is real,” he said, finally realizing the implications.  “Spock,” he said, wincing as he heard the plaintiveness in his own tone, “If this is what telepathy feels like, how do you walk around without falling over?”

“I do not understand.”

“You,” he indicated Spock with a gesture, “and you, Bones, it’s like you’re each at the bottom of a hole, like the floor bends down toward you, but when I move, the floor isn’t where my brain is telling me it ought to be.  It’s disorienting.”

“Apparently in full humans the sensation Vulcans refer to as  _ kash-seshan _ manifests as vertigo.”

“Well, that’s unpleasant and inconvenient.  I don’t suppose you see, I guess you’d call them auras, either.”

Spock raised an eyebrow.  “What is an aura?”

“Well, I’d always seen them described as a faint ring of colored light around a person, like the halos around saints in old paintings.”

“Sounds about right,” McCoy said.

Kirk shook his head.  “It looks like you’re on fire.  I can barely see your faces through them.”

“I do not believe I have a frame of reference that would allow me to equate your experience to my own,” Spock said, sounding genuinely puzzled.  “In answer to your previous question, I spend considerable mental effort maintaining shields around my mind at all times, not merely to protect others’ privacy, but to allow space within my mind for my own thoughts.”

“So the sounds I’ve been hearing, like I’m in a crowded spaceport...are the thoughts of people on the ship, but I can’t make them out because they’re out of earshot?  Mindshot?”

“Most likely,” McCoy said.

“All right,” Kirk said.  “So now that we know, what do we do about it?  How long until I’m cured and things go back to normal?”

McCoy waved a scanner over Kirk.  “Look, Jim, this thing you’ve got.”  He sat at the foot of the bed, an explosion of light edged with indigo, facing Kirk.  He could feel his friend’s concern directly, knew bad news was coming, but he couldn’t read it in the doctor’s face.  Couldn’t even see his face. “I can’t cure it. I can’t make it go away. It’s part of you now and you’re going to have to learn to live with it.”

“What?”  Suddenly he switched from being relieved that he was not dying of a horrifying brain disease but was just getting glimpse of what it might be like to be his first officer, to discovering that he was going to be a freakish mental cripple.  Forever. “What do you mean you can’t cure me of it?”

“The human brain’s telepathic shunt doesn’t repair itself after severe overload.  There are a few drugs that can temporarily suppress the ability, but they’re all too sedating to use for any length of time.”

Kirk wanted nothing more than to get up and pace.  Instead, he sat on his bed between Bones and Spock and flung his arms out to express his frustration.  “I can’t captain a starship if I can’t hear myself think. Or walk across the bridge without ending up on my ass!  How the hell am I even going to get through tomorrow?” He realized he wasn’t being fair to Bones, who he was sure wouldn’t sit on a cure if he had one, but he felt like he had just had it up to the eyeballs with an unfair universe that had apparently decided to make him its whipping boy and now he was going to end up in a support chair staring out a window like Pike.  How much worse was this going to get?

“I will try to be of assistance, if I may,” cut softly through his panic, and he turned to look at Spock.

Kirk acknowledged the offer with a smile he hoped didn’t look too forced.  “Shit. I’m sorry.”

“I do not understand why you are apologizing.”  

He crossed his arms and lowered his head, talking down into his own lap.  “You know, I'm not even used to you turning out to be a touch-telepath. I mean, I’d been meaning to talk to you about it eventually, but we seem to have been lurching from crisis to crisis lately and once things settled down for a couple of days I guess I just didn’t want to bring it up out of the blue.”

“What was there to bring up?”

“I don’t....know.”  He turned back to Spock.  “I wasn’t there when you...when it all went down with Van Gelder, so I don’t know.  I was hoping you could set some ground rules before something else came up. I’d hate to publicly suggest you try something you can’t do...or don’t want to do.  Even if lives were at stake. I wouldn’t want to put you on the spot.”

“A level of consideration the good doctor does not seem to share.”

“That’s not fair and you know it,” McCoy protested.  “Well, I’ll leave the two of you to it, then,” he said, turning toward the door.

Spock stopped him.  “I would prefer that you stay.  Per our prior conversation.”

“Blind leading the blind,” McCoy grumbled.  “I’m just going to sit over here on the couch and catch up on my charts then.  Wouldn’t want to run afoul of General Order Seven.”

Kirk stifled a laugh.  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh.”  He leaned forward to rest his forehead on his hands, then pushed them up and over his hair and squeezed the back of his own neck with his laced fingers.  “Spock. I haven’t been this scared in a long time. Since I was a kid. I feel like I’m losing myself.”

“If I were unable to maintain a mental shield I believe that I would ‘lose myself’ as well.  It follows we must begin with this skill.”

He nodded, apparently a poor choice, moving his head around like that.  Fortunately, the nausea faded after a moment. “I don’t like to work when my bed's not made.”  He rolled out of bed on the side opposite where Spock had set his chair. It was silly of him to want to make his bed at a time like this, but he didn’t want to be a patient.  Hell, he was the captain of this ship, and he wasn’t going to let himself be pitied or looked after like a sickly child.

He managed, slowly and laboriously, to straighten his covers and pillow, then turned his desk chair around and sat facing Spock.  Just knowing that all the strange sensations flowing through him were real made them easier to predict, and so a little easier to endure.  “All right, what do I do?”

“I admit I am uncertain how to begin.”

It was frustrating, not being able to see Spock’s face clearly through the glow surrounding him.  His microexpressions were hard enough to pick up on with his vision unobscured. The act of trying to focus through the aura left him breathless and dizzy, but also with the impression that Spock was not merely embarrassed or uncertain, but afraid.  Unless that was just Kirk’s own fear. It was hard to tell. “Well, how did you learn?”

“The information was presented directly into my mind by the healer who organized my thought processes in my infancy.  I was three years old.”

“You could try that,” Kirk suggested.

“Unfortunately, my education in the mental arts ended abruptly when I was seven.  I am not especially skilled.” Spock was clearly stalling now.

Kirk propped his elbow on his desk, the better to punctuate his words with his hands.  “Look. I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow. We could be arrested, the crew could be separated and questioned for weeks or months.  Hell, they could shoot at us, and I know Scotty isn’t going to let anyone blow us out of the sky no matter what orders he might have. We could be on the run tomorrow.”  Or dead, but if they were dead, none of this mattered anyway. “I don’t think we can assume that we have the luxury of time.”

“As you wish.  I caution you that this will probably be an extremely unstable meld, due to our mutual lack of experience.”

Kirk felt like he ought to say something reassuring.  Instead, the words, "There is no one in the universe I'd rather be doing this with.  Even if you don't have a lot of experience."

Spock blinked at him, apparently stunned to silence.

Kirk backpedaled.  "I mean, I trust you.  And you're...good at improvising."  He scrubbed at his hair again, as if that would clear his head.  “Is there anything I should be doing?”

“You said that  _ kash-seshan  _ manifests to you as vertigo.  You must seek out that sensation, rather than fighting it.  We will shift our awareness from what we perceive outside our minds to a space we create together.”

Part of why Kirk had not cornered Spock earlier to ask him about what he had done with Van Gelder was his own intense curiosity, which he had yet to stifle, and which he was afraid Spock would find offensive.  He found himself jamming that curiosity down in an effort to remind himself that he needed to be serious. Spock was putting himself out for him and he was acting like a junior high kid about to kiss his crush in a cornfield.  Which was silly of course because he did not have a crush on his first officer. Not in the slightest. “I think I’m as ready as I’m going to be,” he said.

“Very well.”  Spock reached for him, but before they even touched, Kirk felt as though the gravity in the room failed completely.  He found himself swallowed up in warm vermilion, freefalling through sound and brightness. Spock was saying something, but he couldn’t put the sounds together into words.  Surprise and fear that were not his own pressed down on him and he instinctively reached out, felt and saw the swirling patterns around them and tried to focus through them to find some stillness, some safety, and all at once his attention shifted, the noise became something not unlike music, and the whirling static settled into more sedately flowing bands and swirls of color, the incoherent impressions resolving themselves into something like a place.  A very abstract place made of yellow swirled with vermilion, but there within was a knot of intention that felt like Spock.

Spock’s thought resolved into words.   _ You did this. _  Had Kirk done something wrong?  

Delight and something like awe wrapped around him and he could have sworn he might have laughed if he had a mouth to laugh with.  Spock was a creature of light, free here of the carefully controlled face he showed the world.  _ Fascinating. _

The level of abstraction was a bit much for Kirk and he felt the need for something stable to hold on to.  He kept losing focus, his thoughts going vague and dreamlike. The space in which they existed changed around him, became a garden full of plants both green and red, small and close with a bower above and a pair of sandstone benches nestled among the plants.  He imagined that he sat, having dreamt a body to sit in, and Spock sat next to him on the bench, looking not as he did in life, but younger, somewhere in between boy and man.  _  I believe I can maintain this setting for a time. _

_ A memory? _

_ My mother’s garden.   _ The space was as soft-focused as a Monet, unless he chose to pay attention to a specific part of it, then, after a moment, Spock followed his attention and the scent of baked earth would sharpen in his nose, or the candy colored moss roses hanging in sconces on the stone wall would sharpen so he could count each petal.  

_ We were here for a reason.  _  It occurred to Kirk that perhaps he ought to be concerned that Spock was distracted from their task, but it was so hard to care.

_ Follow me.  _  His attention shifted back to the colorful, amorphous swirls bordering the garden.  The stuff of his mind, not his thoughts exactly, but the substance he perceived as light and color around him, could be shaped and molded into a sort of wall or cloak.  He found himself resonating more with the cloak image, of wrapping something around himself, protective, to hold himself in and other minds out. He was guided through the process once more, then tried on his own to recreate it.  Spock approved.  _ You progress more quickly than I did. _

_ You were three. _

_ True. _  There was nothing he would have liked more than to have rested on the bench in the soft-focus garden, leaning up against Spock as if they had known each other all their lives, but they both knew they would eventually have to reenter the reality of solid objects, spoken words, and worries about the future.   _ This way. _ Spock said.

The garden evaporated into mist, prettily, as if Spock was experimenting with attending to the aesthetic of the experience.  Kirk thought his appreciation. They drifted upward for a time, the contact lightening, but he still couldn’t quite reach his body.  It was there somewhere, he was sure. Spock continued to draw away, and his instinct was to cling to him, not to be left in this hazy nothingness.   The red-gold receded, but there was a sudden, shocking jolt of indigo, like electricity.

“Jim, Jim, open your eyes!”  They were both shouting at him, Spock from where he’d crossed to a spot across the room, McCoy from next to him, carefully not touching.  He blinked the haze out of his eyes, felt McCoy’s concern directly again rather than seeing it on his aura obscured face, and remembered he was supposed to try to shield his mind.

“I’m all right,” he said, to placate the doctor, then squeezed his eyes shut again, trying to remember.  The pattern formed, a cloak around his mind, wobbly and liquid, but it did dampen the brightness and the noise, at least from McCoy.  He could still feel/see/hear Spock, a comfortable and comforting presence in the back of his mind.

Another bottle of blue stuff was placed in front of him.  “Drink,” Bones ordered. “We’ve got company.”

Kirk chugged the blue stuff, alerting to Bones’s tone.  “What?”

“The Constellation,” Spock said, his voice still with that reverberating quality.  Kirk realized that was because he was hearing the thought a fraction of a second before the words were spoken.  “They arrived moments ago. Scott has requested that we remain in your quarters for the time being, as he is negotiating our disposition.”

Kirk rested his forehead on the heel of his hand, suddenly aware how tired he was.  “I was hoping we’d have more time.”

“Me too, kid,” Bones said.  “We’re dead in space. They ordered us to take our engines offline, everything but life support, until they get further orders.  Scotty hasn’t commed since he told us to sit tight here.”

“So we know nothing.”

“Not a damn thing.”

Kirk stood, stretched his cramped muscles, and stretched back out on the bed.  Spock was still standing on the opposite side of his quarters, a steady presence wreathed in flame.  He acknowledged Kirk’s attention with a gentle pulse, the mental equivalent of a squeeze to the shoulder, he supposed.  Would the connection they maintained now fade over time? The thought of losing it filled him with a surprisingly strong wave of dread.

Spock turned to him.  “I believe that the link will remain unless deliberately broken.”

Kirk glanced at McCoy, decided he didn’t care about embarrassing himself at this point given that they might at any moment be dragged into separate prison cells, and said, “Good.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	7. House Arrest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kshir, First Officer of the Yorktown, evacuates to the surface of Talos IV with the rest of the crew. Kirk, Spock, and McCoy wait to debriefed under house arrest in Kirk's quarters.

“We evacuate.”  Kshir stood before her captain on the balls of her feet, ready to move as soon as Una acknowledged her.

Una nodded wearily.  “Hasan and Faraday concur?”

“They do.  Will you stay behind?”

Una looked down.  “No. I will supervise the evacuation from here, but will accompany the crew on the last pod.  Ensure that we take down all three shuttlecraft in addition to the life pods.”

She flipped on the all-ship address.  “This is your Captain speaking. We are in non-recoverable orbital decay over Talos IV.  We have thirty minutes to evacuate. Attend to your assigned evacuation duties. Take note:  Talos IV is inhabited by potentially hostile aliens capable of projecting illusions into the mind.  Stay together. No one goes anywhere alone. Intense negative emotion may inhibit the aliens abilities.”  Una turned back to Kshir. “I hope we do not all live to regret this.”

“There is no hope if we burn up in the atmosphere,” Kshir countered.  She left the bridge briskly, allowing herself only a second to glance back at it.  The turbolift was no longer functioning, a casualty of the initial explosion, so she opened the door on the opposite side and popped the hatch to the Jeffreys tube leading to the next deck down, tail held carefully high and out of the way of the crew rushing up and down the corridors.

Her datapad pinged her each time a shuttle or life pod separated.  She kept careful count, knowing that Una was performing the same thorough sweep as she was, but up the opposite side of the ship, ensuring that every member of the crew got to a life pod.  

The lights flickered and went out.  For a moment, Kshir found herself in complete darkness, then the battery operated red lights dotting the tops and bottoms of each wall flicked on in response to their own light-sensitive sensors.  The lights formed a self-contained system that worked even if the internal power systems were completely offline, and they provided plenty of light for her dark adapted eyes.

She changed priorities, heading now for the nearest open life pod.  Her data pad had frozen thirty-two seconds ago, but at that moment it reported that all three shuttles and all but six pods were away.  Navigator Shou stood beside the pod. “It won’t initialize. All the computer systems are frozen.”

“We’ll have to operate it manually.  Climb in.”

Shou climbed into the pod.  “I’ve been up the crosshall.  It’s clear.”

“The route I entered by is clear as well,” Kshir noted.  Her data pad had frozen at nine minutes to spare, so they had at least seven remaining.  “It will take some time to free the lifepod safely. We should begin the process now.” She pulled the four levers that docked the pod to the interior of the ship.  Now only the more fragile clips on the outside of the pod held it to the ship. Climbing in next to Shou, she pulled on the hatch, but it was too heavy. Shou grasped the hatch near the bottom and they pulled together until it latched, and the automatic seal hissed tight.

Once separated from the ship, the pod’s lights came on.  Kshir tapped in the code to start the launch sequence and the pod physically popped free of the Yorktown.  She and Shou drifted around the interior unfettered by gravity until they were able to strap themselves into their seats.

“The Captain said these aliens can make us see what they want us to see,” Shou said.

“That is her recollection.  It is possible that they will be uninterested in us.  It is even possible, given the state they were in when she was last there, that they’ve managed to die off entirely.”

“Not likely though.”

“No.  The Captain briefed me on what little they know about the Talosians, and she was of the opinion that there were thousands of them.  They look like humans with big bald heads.”

“Except that when we see them they’ll probably look like giant bears with huge fangs and claws.  Or dinosaurs. If I could make myself look like whatever I wanted I’d look like a dinosaur.”

“I’m sure you would, Shou.”

*

Other than a silent Yeoman Rand delivering three food trays at 1700 hours, there had been no communication between the ship and Kirk’s quarters, and it was growing late.  Kirk slept for a time and Spock meditated, while McCoy worked his way through Kirk’s paper book collection.

At present, Spock and Kirk were attempting to play chess.  “My strategy,” Kirk said, sighing, “Depends on surprise. You can calculate circles around me.  So how am I supposed to beat you if I can’t surprise you?”

Spock raised an eyebrow.  “Consider it an opportunity to practice your shielding.  As Dr. McCoy said, your sensitivity will rise somewhat before it stabilizes, which will make maintaining strong shields more difficult.”  Kirk, chastised, closed his eyes for a few moments. His attempt, to Spock’s perception, was an improvement over previous ones by a small margin.

“It’s no good.  I can keep Bones out, but not you.  I think it’s the link.” The captain’s frustration shaded into something more like curiosity as he applied himself to understanding the problem at hand.  He probed at the link and Spock permitted it to expand, allowing the captain access to the flow of his surface thoughts as he puzzled out its dimensions and character.  “Is this all right?” he said, drawing away as he realized that Spock might be offended by his explorations.

Spock projected reassurance.   _ I do not find your efforts unpleasant, and they are necessary if we are to learn the nature of the link. _

Kirk lifted a hand as though to squeeze Spock’s forearm, a gesture he had used numerous times in the past, but settled it back on the table, frowning.  The warmth stirring between them was unfamiliar to Spock, though it, too, was not unpleasant. He found himself wishing he could touch Kirk, but knew that neither of them had the capacity not to collapse immediately into a meld if they did.  And that wasn’t precisely what he wanted. Though a meld, too, would be welcome, after a fashion. He shut down that line of thinking quickly. The constant presence of the emotional human in his mind was causing him to entertain inappropriate thoughts.

Kirk didn’t bother with words, but instead projected concern and a questioning feeling.

_ This is almost as new to me as it is to you.  _  Spock replied, half apologetically.   _ You’re hungry again, _ he noted.

_ It’s fine, I keep snacks around. _  He stood and made his way more gracefully than he had in days to a box beside his bed, opened it, and pulled out a packet of cashews and dried apricots and a bar of chocolate.  “Want a snack before bed, Bones?” he said aloud.

“You don’t have to share your stash,” the doctor said.

“No, it’s fine, I have plenty,” Kirk said.  “Really, I’m fine with it.” Spock detected a certain extra tension enter Kirk’s mind and held himself steady, neither prying nor attempting to close himself off.

“In that case I’ll take one of those candy bars you shouldn’t be eating.  Actually,” the doctor corrected himself, “You’re gonna love this, Jim.”

“What?”

“Your energy needs have probably gone up by several hundred calories a day.  That’s also permanent.”

Kirk took a bite of chocolate.  “Small favors.” Though his words suggested he found the change appealing, Spock perceived instead a flash of anxiety, quickly stifled.

Bones grinned.  “Oh just smile and eat your chocolate.”

They had now been out of communication with the rest of the ship for over twelve hours.  For the first four of those hours, they had still had access to the computer system, but that had been shut off abruptly in the early afternoon, leading McCoy to use one of the two precious vials of anger stimulant he happened to have in his bag to assure them that the cutoff was real.  The only conclusion that could be drawn was that they were under some kind of house arrest. Assuming that the ship had resumed its movement toward Starbase 11 as soon as they had been sequestered, they would arrive at the Starbase sometime between 1134 hours and 1156 hours tomorrow. If they had not begun to move until their computer access was removed, they would arrive in the late afternoon.  It was safe to assume that their house arrest would continue until their arrival, regardless of when it occurred.

Late in the evening, Spock noticed Jim and McCoy’s movements and expressions showing their fatigue, though they had made no move to sleep.  Without rest, they would be less able to cope with whatever might be in store in the morning. “Jim, I mean Captain, “ he corrected, “you take the bed.  There is room for a bedroll on the floor for you, Doctor.”

“And where will you sleep?” Jim said.  Spock meant Captain Kirk said.

“I will remain awake.  I have less need of sleep than either of you.”

Jim, the Captain, Spock reminded himself again, headed to the bathroom, nightclothes in hand, still using the walls and furniture as tactile reminders of his position.  Spock heard him jiggle the lock on the door that led to Spock’s room before he brushed his teeth.. “Thought maybe they’d have unlocked it so you could at least get into your own space.  No such luck,” he said when he returned, dressed in gray flannel pants and a faded Starfleet Academy cross country t-shirt. He fished through his drawer to find another similar outfit, which he tossed to McCoy.

“Your turn, Bones,” he said.  The doctor complied, muttering all the while about sleeping on the floor at his “advanced” age.  

Once the lights were lowered and McCoy had fallen asleep,  Jim lay in his bed pretending to sleep and worrying over some problem.  Spock tried not to pry, but instead thought through the likely possibilities for the next day.  It was overwhelmingly likely that the three of them would be forcibly separated and questioned, probably for an extended period.  It was also nearly certain that Spock himself would never again be free. He was either a traitor or dangerously and irrevocably compromised.  He could expect prison, most likely solitary confinement, for the remainder of his life. While he knew that the rest of the crew sincerely believed that there was hope of undoing his catastrophic error, he did not believe that outcome to have a high enough probability to entertain seriously.

It was near 0100 hours, and Jim was still not sleeping.  He lay quietly, his thoughts circling, consumed with bouts of frantic problem solving interspersed with periods of wordless dread whenever exhaustion tried to drive him to sleep.  Spock moved his chair closer to the bed.

“Jim,” he said, quietly enough not to wake McCoy.  When there was no answer, he followed up cautiously through the link.   _ Jim? _

The link flew wide open the moment he accessed it, Jim (and JIm it was to be,  _ kaiidth _ ) nearly throwing himself at Spock, desperate with fear and frustration over a future he could not control.  Spock put aside his own worries about the future to attend to his friend. He sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed.

“I can’t sleep.  Not as long as you’re awake,” Jim said quietly.  He scooted forward on the bed, making room for Spock to lie down if he chose.  For a moment, he questioned the wisdom of accustoming Jim to a connection that would serve only as a reminder of their loss once Spock met whatever would become his fate.  Still, denying him this small comfort would do nothing to alleviate future suffering, so there was no logic in further hesitation.

Spock curled up gingerly behind Jim and rested one hand on his shoulder.  The image of himself as a comforting flame was gratifying. He allowed himself to relish it while he slowed his own breathing and began stilling himself into sleep, hoping that in so doing, Jim’s mind would be able to follow.  They drifted for a time he did not elect to track, almost but not quite out of body, wrapped in swirling sunset colors.

*

Kirk and Spock swam gradually to wakefulness, there being no reason to wake early, realizing at some point that they were not fully inhabiting their bodies.  They felt a certain concern that they would be unable to extricate themselves, and one of them, probably Kirk, wondered if they would get mixed up on the way back and end up in the wrong one.  One of them, probably Spock, searched far back into his distant memory for a withdrawal chant after realizing that he could not move, and would therefore be unable to shower effectively. Neither of them wanted to be dragged in for questioning without bathing.  

They rose up out of half-sleep and unintentional rapport.  Spock found his legs first and rolled out of bed, picking up the clothes he had laid, neatly folded, on the dresser top and heading to the shower.  The distance snapped Kirk fully back into his body like a rebounding rubber band. He rolled onto his back. He didn’t remember dreaming, fortunately.  Before he even tried to sit up, he tried to make the cloak thing, the shield, using the brightness of Bones’ blue-violet aura to test whether he was successful. He hadn’t even noticed the ghost of the shower sonic on his back--Spock’s back, until it was no longer there.

McCoy brought over a tray with a pair of cinnamon rolls and rewarmed coffee.  “Breakfast came an hour ago. Might as well eat while you wait.”

Kirk sat and took the plate and cup, still tangled in his blankets.  McCoy ran his medical tricorder over him while he ate. “You doing okay this morning?”

Kirk shrugged.  “I’d be better if I didn’t know what’s probably coming.  At best we’re going to get the grilling of our lives.”

“Best to get our stories straight then,” McCoy said.  “First off, don’t try to hide the telepathy thing. You won’t be able to keep it up for long, not with your sensitivity.  Second, we both know the Talosians played Spock for a fool. They used the best in him against him, his loyalty to his friends, the fact that he cares so damn much.  Make sure you lay the blame where it belongs.”

“Third,” Kirk interrupted, “We’re going back for Pike.  For all of them. We’re not letting the Talosians win. If we do, they will find ways to take more ships.  They’ll build an empire, use the people of the Federation to keep them fed, clothed, and entertained.”

Spock emerged from the shower.  “We may not be in a position to influence the prosecution of this war, but we must strongly advise against sending a large strike force to Talos.  In fact, the Talosians may be counting on the arrival of such a force. It may be the reason we were released.”

Kirk stood and scooped his uniform off the floor, needing to pause to let his vertigo settle for a moment.  “You have a point. Whatever is done, it has to be done with as few people as possible.” He trailed his fingers along the wall to the bathroom door and took his clothes inside.

“Don’t lock it!” McCoy shouted.

“Mother hen!” he shouted back, but realized that falling in the shower was a real possibility and obediently left the door unlocked.  When he returned to the living room, Spock and McCoy had already stowed the bedrolls. Kirk found he really did need the second cinnamon roll and another package of nuts, almonds this time, from his emergency stash.  Both Spock and McCoy had availed themselves of books from his shelves. Spock set down the copy of Hal Clement’s classic,  _ Mission of Gravity _ , and crossed to the bed, sitting cross legged on it next to Kirk.

“Demonstrate the shield again,” he said.  “Try to hold me out.”

“I don’t want to especially,” he said, having forgotten for a moment that McCoy was right there in the room with them.

“Understood.”  He received the impression that he merely needed to shield against Spock for practice, his presence in the Vulcan’s mind was not unwelcome.  Again, he had to suppress a desire to hug Spock, or at least grab him by the shoulders. He imagined the cloak, which was rapidly becoming a consistent shape and construction in his mind, a battered pale yellow afghan he barely remembered from his earliest childhood.

Their link faded into the background, though it was still accessible.  The afghan metaphor had a surprisingly useful side effect: He could imagine the spaces in between the weave as conduits, so that he could let Spock’s unique pattern in, but exclude McCoy’s.  He felt Spock’s surprised approval when he allowed the link to expand again.

“You two aren’t much for conversation lately,” McCoy groused.

“Oh, just you wait.  I’m going to need somebody else to practice on eventually,” Kirk said.

“Nope!  You just put that idea right out of your head, Jim.  Not interested.” Kirk winced. He was used to McCoy claiming not to want to be involved in his many misadventures, his deep loathing for the transporter, his complaints about dangerous alien planets full of poisonous flowers and steep cliffs with rocks at the bottom.  Never before had McCoy been afraid of him. Afraid  _ for _ him, certainly, every day, but the pulse of fear he felt through his still-imperfect shields made him unaccountably sad.

He was attempting to meditate, with Spock’s guidance, when the tingling vibration of a transporter surrounded and dissolved him.

*

Under Kshir’s guidance, the lifepod descended gracefully through the upper atmosphere of Talos IV.  She still held out hope that the natives would be friendly and helpful; perhaps Number One’s bad impression of them had been merely a case of failing to understand their culture.  Perhaps an understanding could be reached, as appeared to have happened thirteen years ago, when the Enterprise was allowed to leave Talosian space.

But the way the planet had appeared so suddenly in their path just as everything else had gone awry made that hope a faint one.  They passed through a wisp of cloud. Kshir allowed the pod to select a landing site without interference, it would seek out the shuttles and the other pods on its own and was, she hoped, too simple minded to be influenced by Talosian illusions.  She spared a glance backward at Shou Zai, noting the younger woman’s hands tightly gripping her restraints, her lower lip pressed between her teeth. “Remember, above all else, we stay together. Submit to neither kindness nor cruelty if it requires our separation.”

Shou nodded briskly.  The pod set down among tumbled cut stone that might have once been part of a giant building.  Scrubby plants, tending more to the blue end of the spectrum than the plants on Cait, poked up between cracks in the stone here and there.  Dry grasses, bleached blonde and lead gray, matted the ground.

Kshir popped the hatch, but waited for Shou to join her before stepping out.  Shou reached for her hand and Kshir allowed her to take it. They set foot on the dry ground together, a pair of Talosians already moving lightly toward them, completely unaffected by the uneven ground.  Projections, Kshir assumed.

“Welcome, human and...we are not familiar with your species,” the alien said.  It was slightly built and very pale, with a head so improbably large she failed to see how its spindly neck could hold it up.  “You have been chosen to aid us in rebuilding our civilization. Come this way.”

They floated, no, drifted through a space between two angular chunks of broken stone.  Shou took a step forward, but Kshir gripped her hand tightly, pulling it down against her side.  “No.” she said, first quietly to Shou, then, “We were brought here against our will. We will not comply.”

“You will,” they said.

“Back into the pod,” Kshir ordered, but by the time they turned around, the pod was gone.  It was as though the act of turning had moved them into an alternate reality. It was near pitch dark, and they were pelted with freezing, wind driven rain.  They could see no shelter to which they could run, so they crouched down, pressing their bodies tight together against the storm.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is interested in the actual progress of this WIP, I am currently drafting Chapter 20, and it's looking like the entire work is going to run about 30 chapters.
> 
> I am open to the possibility of moving to twice a week posting (Tuesday/Friday) once I have a complete first draft. Let me know in the comments if that appeals.


	8. Prisoners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirk and Spock are questioned by Starfleet. We see a little more of Talos.

“They’re bringing the humans today, the ones who might be able to fix the machines.”  Epol sat on xer bed in the dormitory, the false casual tone of xer mind-voice contrasting with the mischief in xer eyes.

Daseh was still tired from a morning of changing the elders’ bedpans and making sure xer group of four were clean, comfortable, and felt properly catered to.  Orey had taken xer place to use one of the two remaining medscanners in their complex to check the elders and administer treatments from the dwindling supply of medications.  Xe kneaded xer foot with xer hands. “You want to go see them?”

“I don’t know, we could get in trouble.  Who’s your minder today?”

Daseh looked into xer own mind to catch the flavor of the one who was supposed to keep xer on task and out of trouble for the day.  “Siv. Xe’s got a bunch of us, though, and xe always gets distracted by those ancient games xe replays all the time.”

“Old people!”  Epol slid gingerly off the bed.  Xe’d always had tricky knees that tended to swell, and the bones of xer legs bowed out more than most people their age.  Xe passed Daseh the image xe’d collected of where they were bringing in the humans as collected them from the surface, and Daseh sent back the route they’d need to take.  Xe had a gift for figuring out how to use the old tunnels and lifts their people used to use back when they numbered in the millions.

There had been only twenty live born infants in the creche this year.

Daseh led Epol out of the dormitory and through the dusty kitchen into a maze of work corridors, routing around a cave that had happened the week before.  They emerged into a wide hallway and quickly ducked back behind a jutting section of wall, peering out from behind the rough stone. The humans were being brought in stilled.  They rested on pallets pushed along by three people per human. They were pushed so deep by the elders handling them that Daseh could get no sense of the shape of their minds.

Humans wore clothes that hugged tightly to their bodies rather than gently draping like her own.  The bodies under the clothes were larger and thicker limbed, but their heads were tiny and covered with hairs, much like Daseh had experienced in some of the old records of animals.  Xe fingered xer eyelashes, the only hair remaining on people’s bodies, for comparison. It must itch terribly to have eyelashes all over one’s head.

Epol squeezed her hand in her excitement.  Daseh patted it. Maybe once the humans could be convinced to fix the machines, there would be medicine for Epol’s knees and for the sores in Daseh’s mouth that made drinking nourishment hurt if xe did it in realspace.  

A curious mind skimmed over xers.  One of the people pushing the carts the humans lay on walked over to where xe and Epol hid.  Once xe saw them, the curiosity turned to annoyance. “This is a restricted area. You two should be looking after your assigned elders.”

Daseh pushed Epol back and stood to face Tanha, who was nineteen and favored of the elders for xer precise setting work.  She was always acting tall about it. “We wished to see the humans. Neither of us is on a work shift at present, so we may fill our time as we please.”

“There is always work to be done by the able bodied.  Stand up, Epol.” Epol struggled to xer feet.

“Daseh, if you want so badly to get a look at these humans, you may be responsible for cleaning their enclosures.  This block of twenty, four times a day. Epol, go back to the dormitory and reconsider your choice of companions. You will care for Daseh’s elders while xe is on punishment duty.”

Daseh began a protest, but was cut off.  “Don’t argue or I’ll cut you off from your elders’ ministrations for the duration.”

Xe scratched at xer upper arm, but remained silent.  The elders might be too fragile to move and in large part, pure crazy, but they did overlay the young ones with light illusions that made their lives more bearable.  It wasn’t really necessary to threaten them with fire when merely withdrawing would leave Daseh to suffer from xer own dry, cracking skin and the ever present ache from bruises that never really healed.

“I will do my best, Tanha,” xe said.  Perhaps xer punishment would turn out to be a boon.  Xe would be allowed to be near the humans all day now and would have plenty of opportunities to discover what they were like.

*

Spock materialized in a small, plain room with three walls and an opening into a corridor.  A long padded bench stretched along one wall. A small toilet and sink, situated so it could be clearly seen by anyone who walked the corridor, stuck out of another wall.  It was a standard cell, used for the temporary housing of prisoners. There was no sense testing the forcefield that must separate his cell from the corridor.

He sat down on the bench that doubled as a bed, crossed his legs, and closed his eyes.  Kirk was alive, awake, and searching for him as well. The link opened up in a disorganized jumble of emotions and impressions.  Kirk was reaching for him with an urgent need to check in, ensure that he was safe. He was able to stabilize the contact after a few moments.   _I am in a cell, probably on Starbase 11._ _It is clean, safe, and unremarkable._  He accompanied the thought with an image of the room in which he sat.

_ Me too.  I’d guess they want to interrogate us separately before they decide what to do with us. _

_ I surmise the same.  For the moment then, we must cooperate.  Recall that they have good reason to suspect our intentions. _  He attempted to project calm into the link.

Kirk projected reassurance back.   _ I’m fine.  Just hungry enough to gnaw my own leg off.  Bones wasn’t kidding about needing more calories.   _ Again, the wash of anxiety accompanying the thought was startling, given Kirk’s willingness to endure other physical discomforts without complaints.

There was a throat clearing noise out in the material world.  Spock opened his eyes. “Kind of you to join us,” Commander Mendez said.  He stood just outside Spock’s cell, data pad in hand, flanked by two security officers.

Mendez stalked the space in front of Spock’s cell. “I have read your reports.  They are thorough, though I don’t know how much of them to believe. So let’s take it from the top.  What logic could possibly have led you to believe that kidnapping Fleet Captain Pike, commandeering a starship and dumping him on some godforsaken planet in the middle of nowhere was a good idea?”

Spock replied, “Twenty-six days ago I was presented with a letter informing me that Captain Pike had been severely injured by prolonged contact with Delta rays.  It was impressed with Starfleet letterhead and bore your signature. I had no reason to doubt the letter’s authenticity. Before I was able to arrange to visit Captain Pike, I was contacted by the Talosians.”

“Explain the nature of this contact.”

“One appeared to me in my quarters.  They informed me that they had sensed Pike’s injury from Talos and wished to know if they could be of assistance.  At first, I rejected their offer.”

“And what made you change your mind?”

“I researched the nature of Delta ray injuries.  Complete loss of motor function, often accompanied by intractable pain.  I dreamed of it, of being Pike, trapped in a body that could not move and burned unceasingly.  Vulcans rarely dream, but the sensation of being paralyzed and suffering dominated my thoughts, both day and night.  I suspect now that I was presented with these sensations by the Talosians themselves.”

Mendez made a note on his datapad.  “So the Talosians had the power to present these illusions to you from many light years’ distance.”

“Yes.  Dr. McCoy and I also suspect that the Talosians were responsible for the actual injury suffered by Captain Pike and his subsequent catatonia.”

“So, these Talosians, which, by the way, Starfleet has no way of verifying even exist, tricked you.  That’s your line.” Mendez shook his head and added, derisively, “I thought Vulcans were supposed to be smarter than that.”

“Insulting me will not bring Captain Pike back, nor will it aid your efforts to determine an appropriate response to the Talosian threat.”

Mendez rocked a little, back and forth on his heels.  “We’ve lost two ships in that sector in the last week.  Do you understand that bringing the Enterprise into close proximity with whatever it was took our ships has compromised every member of its crew?”

“Belatedly, yes,” Spock replied, fighting to keep any semblance of emotion away from his face and voice.

Mendez rocked on his heels, his hands clasped behind his back, regarding him with narrowed eyes.   “I’m glad deciding what becomes of you is not up to me.”

Mendez left him, but was replaced by another officer shortly thereafter, a woman with long dark hair and an arrogant sneer.  “I believe you,” were the first words out of her mouth. She stalked the space outside his cell, appraising him. “Don’t get me wrong, you are a fool.  At this time, your usefulness as a source of intelligence outweighs the danger you pose, and so you live.” She paused for long enough for her words to sink in, evidently expecting to provoke a reaction.  When none was forthcoming, she continued. “In your report you state that you may have unintentionally allowed the Talosians access to the following individuals through what you call familial bonds: Captain James T. Kirk, Chief Medical Officer Leonard H. McCoy, Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott, Communications Officer Nyota Uhura, Head Nurse Christine Chapel, Lieutenant Andreas Kara, Sciences, Lieutenant Lim Xin Li, Sciences, and Ensign Amalia Sosa, also Sciences.  Is this a complete list?”

“It is, to the best of my knowledge, complete with regard to current serving members of the Enterprise crew.”

“I need to know the rest of them.”

“The rest of what?”

The woman leaned in close to the force field.  “Your familial bonds.”

“To what purpose?”

“All persons with whom you hold these so called familial bonds are weak points against these Talosians, along with all persons who closely approached the planet.  They must be sequestered until such time as the threat has been neutralized.”

Spock considered what he ought to say.  Lying about his family would be pointless.  The question was most likely calculated to assess his level of cooperation.  “T’Pring, to whom I am betrothed, my father Ambassador Sarek, the Lady Amanda his wife, my half brother Sybok, whose whereabouts are at present unknown, my sister by adoption, Michael Burnham,” he paused upon seeing her reaction, a widening of the eyes that could not have been accidental.  Michael’s name was, however, well known in Starfleet, so it was not surprising she would recognize it. He went on to list his grandparents, an aunt on his mother’s side, an uncle on his father’s, and two of his cousins.

“Any others?” she prompted.

“Captain Christopher Pike himself,” he added.  “If I were given time to meditate or the assistance of an adept, I might be able to identify others.”

“Is not Adept T’Pau a member of your clan?”

“Yes.”

“Why have you not included her?”

“I have not been in her presence since I was a child, and do not believe a link formed at that time.”

She nodded her understanding, then pursed her lips grimly.  “Understand that if I were given charge over this situation, the life of every person who has been within orbital distance of that planet as well as those of all of your personal contacts would be forfeit, and that planet would be destroyed.  Your cooperation may give Starfleet the ability to pursue other options.”

She left him to consider her words, but only for half an hour before a third interrogator returned, this one asking numerous questions about his current captain that he had little desire to answer.

*

Kirk paced the six steps across the long axis of his cell, turned and paced back, over and over.  He had been questioned twice already by two different people, Commodore Mendez, who clearly hadn’t believed that he wasn’t in on the whole “kidnap Pike and hand him off to aliens” fiasco, and a severe, dark haired woman who would not give him her name and asked him the same questions over and over so many times that the questions themselves had stopped making sense.  Neither had responded to his request for lunch, or later, dinner.

He checked in at intervals with Spock through their link, careful not to remain in contact for more than a moment if he caught him in the midst of an interrogation, but Spock’s inerrant time sense was the only way that he knew it had been eleven hours since he had arrived, and was roughly 2240 Starfleet time.

He did not like being hungry.

More footsteps echoed from the end of the corridor.  Commodore Mendez stood in front of the forcefield again, accompanied by two security officers and two Vulcans whose faces he could not immediately place, though one looked familiar.  He tapped into the link, found Spock unoccupied, and allowed him to see through his eyes for a moment. The emotional shock slamming into him through the link made him gasp. He knew his reaction would require explanation, so he busied himself trying to come up with something plausible even as Spock identified the two Vulcans as Adept T’Pau of the Vulcan High Council and Ambassador Sarek his father.  _  The Ambassador is your father? _ he fairly shouted through the link.   _ Never mind, not now. _

The three humans were consumed in flickering cauls of pastel flame, while both Vulcans were surrounded by neat ovoids of still color, marigold in Sarek’s case, a slightly greenish gold in T’Pau’s.  He wondered if the different appearance were a species trait or if that was what a mental shield looked like. If the latter, his own shielding would presumably be obvious to the Vulcans. “Release the force field,” T’Pau ordered.  

A security officer demurred.  “I don’t believe that’s wise. Captain Kirk has been compromised by an unknown threat and is also a Starfleet officer trained in hand-to-hand combat.”

“You think I cannot protect myself from this human?” she said, haughtily.  “I cannot do what must be done with this electric barrier in my way.”

Mendez spoke into his communicator.  “I need two additional security officers to the brig.”

“Something wrong?” the voice on the other end said.

“Adept T’Pau wants me to allow her to enter Kirk’s cell.”

“Kirk’s cell?  Are you kidding me?”

“Just send the officers.”

Apparently, Kirk’s reputation preceded him.  Once the officers arrived, Mendez opened the palm lock.  T’Pau entered, accompanied by the two largest guards. She turned to them.  “Do not interfere.”

She returned her attention to Kirk.  “You are Captain Kirk of the Enterprise.”

“Yes,” he replied.

“And you are...human?”

“Yes.”

“How come you to be…” She cast a look over her shoulder at the security detail.  “I will have your thoughts.” It was not a request. “You will permit this, without resistance or reservation.”

Involuntary panic rose in his chest, half-masked by hunger that had become an acute pain and was beginning to bring forward memories he was usually better at suppressing.  T’Pau reached toward his face, muttering something in Vulcan he didn’t quite catch, her pale green aura surrounding him and drawing him down. He tried to remain still and not do anything she might find inappropriate.  She examined his link to Spock first, stifled surprise, then moved on to review his memories of the last several weeks. While she had access to anything she wished to see, she spent little time dwelling on any of it and made no judgements to which he was made privy, even when she briefly stumbled into a flashback of a time much earlier in his life than was pertinent.

He apologized for that, weakly, but she dismissed the sentiment with a touch of irritation he didn’t believe was actually directed at him.  Her examination was practiced and deft, in contrast to his experience with Spock’s gentle, but uncertain touch. He could feel her growing concern even as it became more and more difficult to follow her intent; her work was easiest to accomplish if he were to cooperate, and he found himself increasingly unable to do so.

She broke the meld and he pitched forward into her lap, unable to help himself.  His head pounded. “This man is ill. Have you a physician here?” He felt her stretch him out on the bench, then she spoke again, sharply.  “Did your small human ears not hear me?”

She then spoke quietly to Sarek in Vulcan, which Kirk understood too imperfectly to parse in his confused state.  The Ambassador answered in kind. He heard another pair of feet, the click of a latch being opened, the hum of a tricorder.  The lemon hued conflagration somewhere down by his knees was not Bones. Some other medic, then. “Well there’s your problem.  His blood glucose is 25,” a female voice said. “I’ll just give him a shot of glucagon and fifty fifty glucose. That ought to get him going.”

The number of people milling about the room, in such close proximity, made him feel as though he were lying on the deck of a sailboat in a rough sea.  He went into freefall again, for a moment, probably when the medic gave him whatever shots she had mentioned to T’Pau, but was steadied gently.  _ Be still, child of my House. _

The marigold glow moved close and low beside him.  The headache dulled in the wake of whatever the medic had given him.  He tried opening his eyes. Sarek continued to converse with T’Pau in Vulcan.  He acknowledged Kirk with a brief inclination of the head. “The Adept has seen enough to determine that you are neither duplicitous nor a direct threat.  We must speak of your situation privately, after you have rested.”

He was left alone in his cell after that, but Mendez and the Vulcans remained just outside.  T’Pau said, tightly, “Minds occupy brains, and human brains do not function in the absence of nourishment.  Your oversight was counterproductive and could have been deadly, and as I suspect it was intentional, I hope you will meditate upon your motives.”

He was left alone to consider that the gig, all of the gigs, were irrevocably up, that Spock was the son of the Vulcan Ambassador, and that all he really wanted at that moment was to be wrapped tight in his arms.

*

Kshir and Shou huddled, their skin aching and burning with the cold, ice gradually building up on their shoulders and knees and coating their hair.  “None of this is real, none of this is real,” Shou muttered, rocking in time with her words. Kshir checked her chrono, found that it read a time earlier than the last time she had checked it, and spat a curse.  Neither of them had enough energy left to build up the kind of head of steam necessary to clear the illusions. They had once, early on, for about a minute, but by then they had wandered too far from the pod to find it, and as soon as they cooled off enough to consider what to do next, the illusory storm returned with redoubled force.  The only outward sign to Kshir that the storm was not quite real was its smell. Ice water ran down over her face and around her nostrils, but the air still smelled of dust and grass pollen.

They had traversed their environment in ever widening circles, hoping to find shelter or even some kind of boundary in vain until they were too exhausted to continue.  They huddled together on the icy ground after that, Shou alternating between sobbing and miserable silence, until Kshir had shouted, “We’ll follow you. Please just bring us inside!”  There had been no answer even after they screamed themselves hoarse. Perhaps they had been left to die as an example to others. As cold and wet as it was, and in this wind, they ought to be dead already.

A single figure, pale and shimmering, appeared in a rectangle of light.  “One of you may come inside,” a voice said. “You may choose.”

“We’re...fine...here,” Shou managed to get out through violently chattering teeth.  The doorway vanished. Several eternities later, the Talosians were no longer able to force their exhausted minds to remain aware.  Shou collapsed first, unconscious against Kshir’s shoulder. Within moments, she vanished, leaving Kshir to kneel alone, her arms wrapped about her body, waiting for her own mind to shut itself off.


	9. Prison Cells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock is interrogated by Starfleet intelligence. Daseh and Kshir each struggle with their own kinds of captivity.

Spock found it extraordinarily troubling that he had not yet seen T’Pau or Sarek, despite having been kept in his cell for a full Standard day.  He had not been allowed food, rest, or privacy in that time. The interrogations had lasted from nineteen to seventy-four minutes in length and had been separated by intervals of no more than thirty minutes.  

Eleven hours into his captivity, and during a session of questioning by a computer analyst on the exact manner in which he had compromised the Enterprise’s computer system, he had become aware that his link with Kirk was being disturbed.  He observed the attention placed upon it, recognized T’Pau’s touch, and acknowledged her briefly through the contact shortly before Kirk became suddenly ill and T’Pau had closed off his end of the link. She had allowed it to return, but by that time Kirk was asleep or nearly so, so he merely brushed gently against his friend’s mind and withdrew.

The computer analyst, by far the least irritating of the people who had questioned him so far, said, “You were a million miles away for a minute there.  Should I repeat my last question?”

“Not a million miles, I suspect.  Perhaps a few dozen meters. Yes, do repeat the question.”

After fourteen hours, he had finally given in to the need to urinate, having delayed more to spare his guards embarrassment than himself.  The dark haired woman whose name he did not know had waited just beyond his field of view to ambush him with additional questions before he had even had the chance to readjust his clothing.  Her questions were for the most part repetitious; he realized that they were intended to intimidate him and wear down his resistance rather than to obtain new information, though to what purpose he was not certain.  

By morning, the inability to sustain meditation uninterrupted was beginning to unsettle him, but he had endured such deprivation for longer periods while on missions and would endure for quite some time without suffering severe consequences.

He should not have been surprised to see, flanked by an entourage of security, Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan.  “Spock,” his father said.

“Ambassador,” Spock replied.

A non Vulcan might not have been able to detect the signs of tension in his father’s posture.  To Spock, Sarek might as well have been screaming. “I have been asked to conduct my questioning in Federation Standard.  This will make matters more difficult given the nature of what I must discuss with you. It concerns your bondmate.”

Spock inclined his head.  “If T’Pring wishes to dissolve our betrothal bond, I am of course willing to do so.”

The slight change in the set of Sarek’s jaw bespoke a frown.  “I do not speak of your betrothed, though it would in fact be wise to dissolve that bond as soon as practicable, given that you have taken another mate.”

Confused, Spock replied, “I have taken no other.”

“Your captain has been examined by Adept T’Pau.  She states that you formed a familial bond with him over a year ago, but that this bond has recently deepened.  It is stronger than a typical marriage bond, though she states, unconsummated.”

Spock sat in his very public prison cell, knowing that his father’s every word was being recorded and analyzed and that his responses would be as well.  He spoke carefully. “The captain suffered accidental awakening of an unusually strong telepathic talent when he was assaulted with an experimental neural rewiring device nearly four Standard weeks ago.  The situation did not become apparent until three weeks later. At the time I was the only person nominally qualified to assist. As a result of my inexperience, there resulted emotional transference and the creation of the bond T’Pau perceived.”

Sarek nodded acknowledgement.  “Be aware that members of your family have been apprehended and taken to a shielded facility at Gol, where it is believed they will be insulated from Talosian influence.  Your Starfleet surrogate family are being transported to the same location as we speak. I am negotiating for you to be released into Vulcan custody as well, but your disposition remains uncertain.”

He nodded slightly to acknowledge his father’s statements.  “Is it possible to break my familial bonds in my absence?”

“Some of them.  You should be aware that there are those who have suggested that the simplest way to remove the risk you pose is through your death.”

“I accepted that as a likely outcome when I took Captain Pike from Starbase 11.”

“Did you anticipate that allowing yourself to create a  _ t’hy’la _ bond…” one of the Starfleet guards prodded the Ambassador in the back, and Sarek made no move to correct his rudeness.  “My apologies,” he said to the guard, “I will attempt to substitute a human term. The term soulmate is closest, though it implies an assumption of predestination that does not apply.”  The Ambassador turned back to Spock, his disapproval still evident. “In any case, did you anticipate your possible imminent demise when forming this bond with your captain? In his fragile present state, the chance he will follow you into death is 87%.”

His father’s response to the guard, who he had assumed was there to protect the Ambassador, contained so many disturbing revelations that he was stunned to silence.  He had formed a  _ t’hy’la _ bond with a human.  That bond would, if he were executed or euthanized, whichever term the Federation would choose to use in its undoubtedly deeply buried and highly classified report, almost certainly cause the death of the person he valued most in the universe.  His father was as much a prisoner as he was, thanks to Spock divulging private Vulcan matters to paranoid Federation authorities. The fact that their paranoia was entirely justified did little to assuage his sense of responsibility.

His shock poured through the bond he had recently discovered was  _ t’hy’la _ and awakened the captain.  _ What happened? _  He sent reassurance and a request that the captain wait until he was alone to ask more questions.  “Will you and T’Pau be joining them at Gol?” he managed to ask.

“Indeed.  My presence will undoubtedly reassure your mother.”  Sarek pressed his lips together and glanced to his left briefly.  “It has been decided that your knowledge must be obtained in some reliable fashion that will not cause one of our own investigators to be compromised.  Several Klingon mind sifters were obtained during the war which, contrary to the stipulations of the treaty, were not destroyed.”

Sarek stepped to the side, allowing a group of four people in Starfleet uniform to approach the cell.  Spock could see him standing in the corridor. The officer in science blue said, “We have tested the device on human volunteers.  It can be operated without producing significant damage, however, the device invariably causes the subject physical and mental discomfort.”  His tone was brusque, his attitude one less of detachment than active animosity. “It will hurt less if you don’t resist. Most people resist anyway.”

“Sarek! Father, please!” he shouted as the electrodes were affixed to his head.  “Go to Jim. Shield him.” He had not called Sarek “father” in many years and did not expect him to respond, but from the corner of his eye he saw a slight nod and his father turned on his heel, still flanked by his security entourage, and disappeared out of his line of sight.

*

Daseh surveyed the long rows of cells with xer eyes first.  The humans were ensconced in individual rooms, each supplied with a sleeping platform and a small shelf onto which food was placed.  Their fear, punctuated by brief, intense spikes of anger that felt intentional, made it difficult for xem to remain nearby, but xe had been charged with ensuring that none had physical injuries that required treatment and that all had been supplied with nourishment and had their wastes carried away.  Xe had been assigned a group of twenty, sixteen from the Celeste and four from the Yorktown.

Xe stopped in front of one cell.  Its occupant crouched on the floor with her head bowed and her arms wrapped tightly about her body.  Most of the four hundred humanoids from this Federation were human or close enough to make little difference, but there were a dozen or so nonhuman species represented, including this female.  The female was naked, as all of the captured aliens were, the better to monitor their physical condition, but was covered with sleek light brown fur. She radiated misery--Daseh sampled her thoughts gingerly, not wishing to alert the alien or the elders controlling her experiences of xer presence, and shivered.  She must have been uncooperative indeed. A willful youth, Daseh was no stranger to punishment from the elders. It was bad enough when she actually deserved their wrath; the worst times were when she caught the attention of those elders who enjoyed administering punishments for slight or imaginary infractions.

Daseh entered the cell cautiously and released the cleanbot to collect the female’s excretions from the floor.  Xe ran the medical device over the crouched body and determined that her body was capable of sustaining the levels of stress it suffered for some time longer.  Xe reached out to touch the orange mane, an instinct to provide comfort, perhaps, or it was possible xe was merely curious as to how the texture of that hair would feel under xer fingers.

Reluctantly, xe left the female in her cell, hoping that she would soon see the hopelessness of her situation and cooperate.  The cooperative ones would be given to the young ones to guide, so that they might be able to repair the life support machines and perhaps one day make it possible for their people to live on the surface again.  The elders would retain the most stubborn holdouts for their own entertainment. Daseh suppressed a little shudder at the thought and flinched from the tendril of amusement arising from the elder assigned to monitor xem.  

*

Kshir awoke on a flat, molded foam bed in a cell with rough cut stone walls and a large window made of what was probably transparent aluminum.  She was alone. Blue liquid in a fluted glass sat next to white cubes of what resembled the human food, tofu. She flexed her fingers and toes, noting the absence of frostbite.

The substances offered were clearly intended for her to consume.  She considered throwing them against the wall of her cell, but decided that her best strategic option was to eat them, and quickly, before the Talosians changed their minds.  Hunger would reduce her ability to resist, and it would make no sense for them to cause her to drink poison when they could kill her easily by other means, nor would it make sense for them to drug her when they could produce whatever effects they wished with their minds alone.

The cubes were as tasteless as egg white, the blue liquid sweet and faintly metallic, as though she were drinking sugar water into which a multivitamin had been dissolved.  She sat on the foam bunk to await the next illusion, knowing her every thought was probably being read and catalogued as she did so. She attempted to refrain from thinking.

The next illusion appeared between one blink and the next.  She was standing on a windswept savannah dotted with scrubby trees twisted into lovely, sinuous shapes.  Lithe seill picked their way among the grasses, seeking the choicest herbs and youngest sprigs of grass. She was wearing traditional hunter’s garb, loose grass brown pants and a short tunic, a sheaf of short spears slung over her back.  Her atlatl was in her hand.

“You kill for amusement,” the sexless, soft voice beside her said.  She turned her head to see another one of them beside her.

Kshir turned away to contemplate the browsers dotting the landscape.  “We are the apex predator on our world. If we do not harvest the seill, they would overpopulate, send the ecosystem into collapse, then starve.  A skilled hunter provides a quick death and ensures the beast’s life serves others.”

“You may hunt, if you wish,” the being said.

“In return for what?”

“In return for telling me about the seill.”

That seemed a strangely naive reason to make such an offer.  She didn’t trust it. Kshir sat, cross legged, on the warm ground.  It was impossible not to appreciate such beauty, pulled from an adolescent memory and reproduced with perfect fidelity, right down to the texture of the dirt beneath her fingertips, but as unscented as a hologram.  She didn’t answer right away, as she knew the Talosian would not like what she had to say, and a part of her wanted to savor her surroundings for a moment longer. It was only the knowledge that the Talosian was taking a perverse pleasure in her enjoyment that spurred her forward.  “Kshir, Commander, First officer of the USS Yorktown,” she said.

“I am Daseh,” the being replied, ignoring the hardness in her tone.  It folded itself to sit on the ground beside her, its arms wrapped around its knees.

Kshir waited in silence.  Daseh, too was patient. It closed its eyes and turned its face into the light wind.  “Cait is beautiful,” it said.

It was not going to draw her out with compliments.  Kshir watched it out of the corner of her eye without turning her face toward it.  It seemed tense, almost afraid, sitting beside her with its face turned into the wind, almost as though it were comforting itself with the sensory echoes of Kshir’s memory.  It blinked and turned toward her. “I wish…” it started to say, and was abruptly gone.

First the colors of the landscape faded, then it grew gradually darker and darker until the darkness felt like a film over her eyes.  Once she could see nothing, the sound faded, slowly, the soft calls of the seill, the swish of the grass in the wind, the whistles of small flying things, finally the sound of her breathing and the swish of her own blood through the arteries near her ears.  Her sense of smell deserted her in stages then, first the barely present odor of the cool, dry, slightly moldy air of the inside of her cell, then even the scent of her own body, which itself grew numb until she drifted, a bodiless mote in a void that wasn’t even black because she had forgotten how to see.

She repeated her name, rank and position to herself until the words became nonsense in her head.  She drifted in the blackness, expecting to begin to hallucinate at any moment. She didn’t. No imaginings filled the blackness in her mind.  She tried to imagine something on purpose, her familiar console on the Yorktown, and found she could not remember what it was like to see. She could not remember the sound of Una’s voice.  She thought she had two arms and two legs, but her efforts to remember what her body felt like sitting, standing, and running were cut off before she could complete them. In desperation, she tried to dredge up a favorite sexual fantasy, in part hoping that it would intrigue her Talosian tormenter for long enough that she might be allowed to feel something, anything, even for a moment.  But her mind slipped off the memory, the thought of skin and fur sliding over each other becoming as flat as black and white words printed on a datapad.

*

Sarek strode out of the station brig and to to the lift system, not caring that his security detail had to jog to keep up with him. He reached the lift in forty-eight seconds.  It took another thirty-five seconds for the lift to arrive, and twenty-nine for it to reach the Starfleet guest quarters to which the potentially contaminated Enterprise personnel had been moved after being released from the brig.  He recalled that Kirk was billeted in room 515 with Doctor McCoy. It took him nineteen seconds to reach room 515. He activated the door chime to warn the occupants, then said to the Starfleet guard to his right. “Please unlock the door.”

He had noted that affixing “Please” to requests to humans increased the speed with which they complied with a request by approximately 2.1 seconds, on average.

He entered the room without waiting for the door to be answered, assuming that, given that the mind sifter had been in use on his son for at least 2.55 minutes, the doctor would be occupied with efforts to assist the captain.  It was to be hoped that they were not both incapacitated.

Kirk lay in a fetal position on the bed, fists pressed to his temples, his mouth open in a soundless scream.  Sarek took two long strides into the room to see the Doctor standing at the comm, shouting obscenities at whoever was on the other end of the connection.  The doctor looked up at him. “How the hell did you...? Ambassador Sarek, I’ve been calling the infirmary and they’re giving me the runaround. My head hurts like hell, I’ve got no supplies and I don’t even know what’s wrong with…”

Sarek sidestepped the doctor to sit on the bed next to Kirk.  “A mind sifter is being used on my son. I am no healer, but I might be of assistance.”

“Be my guest.”  McCoy stepped out of the way, crossed his arms, and perched on the edge of a chair.

Sarek paid him no further attention.  “Kirk,” he said, gently prying the man’s hands from his face to gain access to the contact points.  It would hardly be necessary, given the ease with which their minds were already beginning to flow together, but Sarek preferred the control and precision, especially when working with a mind he did not know well.  “Hear me, son.”

_ Son? _ Kirk questioned the term, but clung to him nonetheless.   _ Help me hold Spock _ , Kirk projected.  Sarek had initially intended to shield the link between the two men, but Kirk’s mind was stronger than he had anticipated and he was already actively reaching for Spock in much the same way that Sarek had steadied Amanda when she gave birth.  Sarek complied with Kirk’s request, offering support and control so that Kirk was free to reach through the bond to steady Spock.

The mind sifter was in use, continuously, for forty-four minutes.  During that time, a third mind brushed the edge of the meld five times, each time alternating between rapidly reciting nonsense rhymes and spewing increasingly creative invective.  Finally, there was a pause in the onslaught.

Sarek sat up to stretch muscles he had held rigid and allowed his eyes to focus.  The nurse, Chapel, stood near the foot of the bed, a medkit’s contents spread out before her on the dresser while McCoy sat on the floor between the room’s two full size beds, head tilted back and an icepack pressed to his face.  Kirk slipped fitfully into unconsciousness.

McCoy heard Sarek stir and looked up.  “Don’t jiggle his IV. I won’t soon forget how much fun it was to put in.”

“Are you injured?”

“He was flailing around a lot for a while.  Popped me on the nose. How is he doing?”

“Unconscious at present.  He should be allowed to rest and recover for as long as possible.  There is no guarantee that the mind sifter will not be used again.”

“So I guess that means Spock is still with us?”

“He is alive.  I do not wish to disturb Jim to assess his condition at this time.”  The nurse handed him a cup of water and he drank.

“Why?” McCoy asked.

“Why what?”

“What you’re doing, it’s not exactly easy or safe for you.  Why put yourself out for some half-Vulcan screw up who may have started a war?”

“Commander Spock is my son.”

Any response the human doctor might have made was interrupted by a harsh cry from behind them.  Their respite, all three point six five minutes of it, was over.

  
  
  
  



	10. Dispositions and Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirk and Spock are reunited on the Vulcan ship.

Mendez leaned over his desk to glare at Commander Phillips, who stood before him in her Starfleet Intelligence blacks, acting as though she outranked him.  “You ordered what?” he snapped.

“Starfleet Intelligence believes that sequestering all persons who closely approached Talos IV or have familial bonds with Commander Spock on Vulcan until Talos is destroyed is the safest course of action.  In order to ensure that all of those bonds were identified, I ordered that one of the mind-sifters that remain in our possession be employed.”

“And you tried to make his father watch you do it to him.”  He stayed behind his desk at least in part because he feared that if he did not, he would strike the Commander.  “What kind of sadistic monster are you?”

Phillips regarded her manicure.  “It was necessary to see to what degree the Ambassador was loyal to the Federation.”  

Mendez wondered if he had been transported to an alternate universe without his knowledge.  Probably not. Spooks were the same everywhere. “Sarek has no need to prove his loyalty to the Federation.  He has already done so more times than I can count.” He stared down at the desktop for a moment to compose himself. “Did he survive?”

She pursed her lips.  “Yes, and his pretty boyfriend did, too.”

“Do not call Captain Kirk his boyfriend.  It’s inappropriate.”

“It’s fraternization.”  She smiled a little at that, as if pointing out a lever she would pull at need.

Mendez sighed.  “It’s incomprehensible Vulcan mysticism is what it is, and since Vulcans are a couple thousand years ahead of us in the mysticism department, we need them in our corner.  Because that’s the kind of war we’re fighting. And given that the Vulcan ambassador to Earth and a member of the High Council have a vested interest in the survival of those two men, I will not have them tormented for your amusement.”

“The old biddy reamed you a new asshole, did she?” Phillips sneered.

Mendez dropped wearily into his chair.  “Get out of my office, and do not use that thing, or any other form of torture you’ve come up with, on Commander Spock or any of the rest of the compromised personnel.  I’m ordering all of them moved to Gol, and that includes Commander Spock.”

He watched her retreating back until she was well out of his office, then muttered to himself.  “Let the Vulcans figure out what to do with them. I’m out.”

*

“I want to see him.”  Kirk was propped in his favorite corner of the room, McCoy, Uhura, and Chapel seated around him on various pieces of furniture that were not really well suited for a staff meeting, but there you go.  It would have been helpful to have Scotty with them, but he was being imprisoned, or rather, sequestered in a different room along with three researchers from the science department who had spent too many long days and nights writing papers with Spock.

“I want to see him too,” McCoy said.  “They’re still keeping him locked up in the brig.  To be fair, we knew this was likely to happen.”

“The bean counters have decided that the best way to solve the problem is to throw us all in a hole and bury the problem and write off the crews of the Yorktown and Celeste, not to mention Captain Pike.  That’s almost five hundred people. There‘s got to be a better way!” Hell, Kirk just needed to  _ see _ Spock, to reassure himself that Spock would recover.  He was taking analgesics like they were candy and the searing headaches that had settled behind his eyes were barely touched.  He was almost certain that was because they were at least partly not his headaches. The link was raw, painful to access, the feeling like trying to hold hands when both you and the person whose hand you were trying to hold were covered in second degree burns.  It was not a good thing that he had an actual reference for exactly that happening in his past. Showed him what kind of life he lived.

There was a courtesy chime at the door.  McCoy walked toward the door, presumably out of force of habit, since the locks operated from the outside.  Sarek stood in the doorway with T’Pau and some other Vulcans he didn’t know. “The ship is ready to depart. Your companions have already boarded.”

McCoy picked up his med kit, already packed, and Uhura and Chapel collected the small bags they had been allowed to bring with them from the Enterprise.  They all left first, so as to avoid bumping into Kirk. After they passed, Sarek entered the room and bowed, slightly. Kirk returned the gesture with a deeper bow, wincing as it exacerbated his headache.

“Son, are you unwell?”

“I’ve been better, Ambassador.”  He couldn’t quite bring himself to call the man “father”.  At least not until he heard Spock use the word in his presence.  “Have you seen Spock?”

“I have been permitted to see him, but not to touch him.  He is in a healing trance at present.”

“Which is why he won’t answer me.”

“Precisely.  For the moment, it is best that you leave him to the work of healing himself.”

Kirk scrubbed at his own arms as though he were cold.  “The bureaucrats are making a huge mistake, letting this go.”

Sarek raised a hand, cutting off further comment.  “We will discuss that matter in detail, but only after we arrive at Gol.  Please refrain from speculating to the extent you can.”

They started out the door.  “Sarek.”

“Yes, son?”

“Why do you keep calling me that?”

“Son-in-law is an awkward turn of phrase.  I am also reminding those who would keep you and Spock here that I, and a member of the High Council, consider you family and would cause what you might call a diplomatic incident if anything unfortunate were to befall you.”

“I see.”  Son-in-law?  “Thank you. For all your help, I mean.  I didn’t get a chance to, before.”

“One does not thank logic,” the Ambassador said.

*

Even after they arrived on the Vulcan diplomatic ship, they sat in dock for another six hours negotiating the release of Commander Spock.  Sarek and T’Pau did not want to allow a Starfleet Intelligence escort inside the ship, while the Admiralty had demanded one. Eventually, a courier was assigned to follow the diplomatic vessel to Vulcan, carrying three Starfleet operatives who were also to be stationed at Gol.

“The high priestess will not be pleased,” Sarek said of this development.

Kirk had his own quarters at last, decorated in the Vulcan style, with a meditation mat in one corner about which Sarek had commented, “You would benefit from its regular use, Captain.”  A cabinet on one wall was well stocked with packaged drinks and food, all rigorously healthy, dried fruit and nuts, flatbreads and some spreads he couldn’t immediately identify. At least the beds were recognizably beds.  He had been promised that when Spock awakened from his trance he would be sharing these quarters with him.

They were going to Vulcan to live in a shielded fortress inside a mountain.  Four hundred people were trapped on a planet with powerful aliens bent on who really knew what. Spock was in a healing trance and no one could tell him how much of him would be left when he came out of it and God, if he had to teach his friend how to walk and talk and think again he would devote his life to it, but it would be hard not to murder that Starfleet Intelligence agent with his bare hands first.  And his own brain was still broken. Not broken. Changed beyond his own ability to recognize. He could see auras through the walls, bobbing like colored lanterns in front of him, to the side, above and below and most bizarrely of all, behind him. He hadn’t been able to shield properly since the two and a half hours--one hundred fifty-four minutes, according to Sarek--that Spock had been subjected to the mind-sifter.  He was pretty sure Phillips had been trying to kill them both.

He and his crew were still confined to their respective quarters on the Vulcan ship.  He supposed that was a reasonable precaution under the circumstances, but he was getting a little stir crazy.  The door chime was softer than the chimes on the Enterprise and somewhat lower in pitch. “Come,” he said.

The door slid open.  Spock stood in the doorway, accompanied by Sarek, both dressed in simple black tunics and trousers.  Spock’s face was extraordinarily pale and looked strange without cosmetics. Kirk leapt to his feet, stumbled but didn’t care, and stopped, centimeters from Spock.  The red-gold fire was there, licking around him like flames and shot with sparks that he hoped didn’t mean anything too awful. Spock’s mouth worked, the thought *Jim* projecting on a wave of relief and gratitude, but the spoken word didn’t come.

Kirk glanced sideways at Sarek.  The Ambassador guided his son into their quarters.  “There has been some damage, but I am assured it is temporary.”

Spock sat on the end of the bed, gingerly.  Their headache hung between them like a miasma.  Kirk hesitated to sit down, not knowing what was appropriate and what might cause Spock further harm or pain.  He turned to Sarek, hoping for guidance.

“The more you are together, body and mind, the more rapidly he will recover.”

There were so many things one did not ask one’s bonded person’s father, and clarification on exactly what he meant by body and mind was one of them.  Kirk sat next to Spock, not quite touching him and uncertain what to do. His sense of being expected to do something was acute, as was his feeling that whatever he did would be culturally inappropriate.

Sarek broke the silence.  “Vulcans generally eat only twice per day, and do so in the dining facility.  Our next meal will be served in three point two standard hours. You will be brought a meal at that time.” Sarek bowed his way out of the room. 

Now what?  He and Spock made quite a pair of mental cripples.  Spock winced at Kirk’s phrase. The effects, direct and vicarious, of the mind sifter had left them incapable of shielding their thoughts from each other.  “Spock?” he said. “I know you’re having a hard time with words right now, but if you’d like me to…” he held out his hand. Spock tilted his body so it leaned into Kirk’s and clutched at his hand.  Krik barely had time to register the warmth of the fingers curled around his own before he dropped completely out of his body and into Spock’s mind.

It was different this time.  Kirk fell through shards of broken crystal, the pieces holding fragmentary images he couldn’t identify.  The shattered pieces sliced into him like knives. Find the order, he told himself, but there was no order to find, the music was discordant, the colors clashing and painful.  He would have to make order. He had done it before, he could do it again. He concentrated on the first pleasant memory that came to him.

Middle school Jimmy making out with his crush in a cornfield and after a moment they were were there, warm summer wind rattling corn stalks just beginning to dry, startled blue sky, the smell of earth touched with mildew and maybe a little manure.  Spock sat cross legged in front of him. He was that same indeterminate age he had been the last time. Kirk wondered whether he appeared as his teenaged self to match. His hands, when he looked down at them, seemed young, soft and unlined. Funny that the first place he thought to go was his first hesitant steps into romance.

The first thing that occurred to Kirk to say was,  _ I think I’m love with you _ .

Spock accepted Kirk’s statement without surprise, leaving Kirk stunned for a moment.  Kirk’s mind pushed forward a set of images and impressions that he probably would not have shared if he had any control, nothing fully formed, beloved scents of incense and whatever it was Spock used on his hair, the curve of Spock’s shoulder, the tilt of his eyebrow, the way he would grab Kirk’s wrist to capture his attention just before Kirk did something stupid, his expressive hands dancing over a console.

Spock startled more at that image than the one of his behind.  Kirk hadn’t really realized just how much of his idle time on the bridge he had spent admiring that particular view.  He had always deluded himself into thinking that he was admiring Spock’s dedication to his work. Kirk had even seen it naked on some mission or other and he was really getting tired of this no censor at all thing, what was his first officer going to think of him...

_ Beloved _ , Spock said, the word itself a miracle, halting his self conscious worrying.  Images and impressions came more slowly from Spock, a symptom of his compromised nervous system.  They were different, less overtly sensual, perhaps. His delight when Kirk had outwitted Balok with an audacious lie.  Kirk’s perpetual running into the wind and expecting it to hold him up and miraculously, somehow, it always did. The way he thought sideways and leapt from A to Z without passing through the steps in between, and yet, when Spock backtracked his logic it was usually, if not always sound.  The music of his voice.

Kirk could get used to this inner world they shared.  On the other hand, his mind tracked back to Spock’s pretty hands and neat little behind and he realized with crashing disappointment:  I am never getting laid again.

_ I am not averse, _ Spock assured him.

_ But it seems I’m incapable. _  He wasn’t sure of that, of course, perhaps somehow he could touch Spock’s body without crashing into his head and losing track of his physical self, but at this point it seemed doubtful.  And yet, baby Vulcans happened, so…

Spock seemed to be trying to formulate a thought that was too complex for his injured mind and turned into a suggestion that they consult T’Pau or Sarek, both of which ideas filled him with the kind of dread that only comes from the prospect of discussing sex with one’s parents.  Grandparents. Clan matriarch. He caught a flash of shame, sex associated in Spock’s mind with violence, loss of control, and fear, and deliberately shifted his attention somewhere else to spare Spock from having to dwell on a topic that clearly had some major cultural hangups attached to it.

_ And also I can’t get out _ , he realized.  That seemed to be a much more pressing problem.  They couldn’t stay like this forever, presumably.  Kirk’s brain wasn’t built for it, and even if it were, eventually he’d have to drink and eat and pee.  He hoped Spock was capable of remembering how they managed to withdraw from each other before.

The feeling he got from Spock was cautiously optimistic.  He felt the same slow upward drift as before and applied himself to the problem.  He was supposed to be a genius, he ought to act like one. He needed to ground himself.  Smell first, smell came through a different processing system than the rest of the senses, at least in humans, and it had never been a part of the suite of synesthesias that had become associated with his telepathy.  He concentrated on the Vulcan scent of the furnishings and the air in the room. All right, so far so good, now something to feel that was just his, his heartbeat, then the feel of air moving into and out of his nose.  He could feel the bed underneath him. He found and opened his eyes to find that Spock had crossed the room to give him enough space to find himself.

He got up to use the bathroom next, took a minute to figure out the fixtures, and once his business was done returned to the main room.  Spock had settled onto the meditation mat. “Will I bother you, staying here?” he asked while he looked through the food that was left for him.  Kirk realized as he said it that he had nowhere else he could go.

Spock shook his head, thought better of it, and took a shot at speaking.  “No,” he managed to get out. His voice sounded thick and uncertain. “Stay.”

He tried not to spend too much of the next couple of hours staring at Spock while he meditated.  He failed.

*

Being assigned to clean up after the captive humans had done nothing to quench Daseh and Epol’s curiosity about them.  The two of them were returning from cleaning the enclosure’s Daseh was assigned. The work went more quickly when they worked together, though technically their punishment had been intended to separate them.  Epol stumbled against Daseh, xer swollen knees unable to bend well enough to navigate a short run of stairs. Daseh offered an arm and they made it to a flatter part of the corridor together. At the rate she was going, Epol would be unable to work long before xe was old enough to matter.  In the back of xer mind, where xe would not let xer friend see, xe was already making plans to find one of the old support couches so xe might take care of Epol xemself. For today, they would have to risk a trip to the infirmary.

The door to the infirmary stood open, the motors that used to open and close it having seized up before Daseh was born.  There were humans in the infirmary, and not as patients. They moved freely about the room, using both Talosian tools and their own.  Daseh led Epol inside, but stopped just inside the door to see how the humans would react to their presence.

A human with brown skin and loosely curled hair looked in their general direction without seeing them.  Daseh wondered if they were unseen because the humans were deep in an illusion, or if xe and Epol alone had been edited out of the human’s mind.  Elders could be both fickle and cruel in their punishments.

She helped Epol onto a couch, then approached the human, who was muttering to xemself, or rather, xe was muttering to the elder who controlled xer senses.  “I know you’re messing with me again. Yes, I can tell, I’m not an idiot. I told you, I cannot treat patients when I cannot see clearly, now leave off!”

Daseh reached out to put a tentative hand on the human’s arm.  The human started and turned toward Daseh. “Now where did you come from?”

“I was here,” Daseh said.  “You were kept from seeing me before.  Will you help my friend?” Daseh gestured to Epol.

“I’ll do what I can.”  The human crossed the room to where Epol sat, Daseh following.  “My name is Siddig,” the human told Epol.

“Epol.”

“All right if I touch your legs?”  When Epol nodded, the human lifted up Epol’s robe and felt xer knees with xer big, chubby hands.  “Do they hurt?”

“Yes.  But I have to be able to walk so I can take care of the elders.”

“And you know, so you can take care of you,” Siddig told xem.  “Like most of you kids, your problem stems from terrible nutrition.  You’ve also got a low grade infection in your blood that’s making your joints hurt.  I’m going to give you some medication for the infection and the pain, and then I want you to stay here for a while.”

“But I have things I have to do.”  Epol couldn’t keep from looking at Daseh when she said it.  Daseh reached an arm around xer and touched foreheads, trying to ease Epol’s pain a little xemself around the barriers the elders had put up.  It didn’t help much.

Daseh turned to the human.  “Why are you helping xem? Most of the humans have agreed not to cooperate.  They hate us.”

Siddig radiated a combination of anger and a sort of bleak humor.  “I don’t like the way your people took us against our will. I hate being controlled.  But if being a captive makes me behave differently than I would have toward people who need me...that’s when they own my soul.  I do this because I want to, and because it needs doing, not because I am weak or have given in.”

“I want to stay here with Epol for a while.”  Daseh felt the weight of at least two elders’ annoyance with xer for slacking off.  “I will stay,” xe told them, expecting a wash of ice or fire for xer defiance. Perhaps they were waiting until the human was no longer watching them.

“Defiance is a skill.  It gets easier with practice,” Siddig told xem.  Daseh didn’t inform the human doctor that xe had more practice than just about anyone else in xer generation.  Maybe xer defiance would make a difference for a change.


	11. Disposeable People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock and Kirk are taken to Vulcan, and Captain Una reunites with her former captain on Talos.

It took some time for Captain Una to notice that she had been placed in a comfortable setting.  She found herself in a rocking chair on the wide porch of an Earth-style house. The pine boards beneath the chair were wide and slightly warped, the exterior walls covered with weathered white paint.  The porch overlooked an expanse of gently waving grasses. A man sat on the steps facing away from her, dressed in brown denim pants, a pale blue shirt, and ornately decorated, but well broken in boots.

“Captain Pike!” she said.  

He turned, looked at her, then looked away.

The screen door opened.  A pretty blonde woman stepped outside, carrying a plate with a sandwich and chips.  “Hungry, honey?” she said to Pike. Pike didn’t even bother to look up at her. “Fine,” she said.  “Eat it later if you want.”

She turned on her heel, so that she faced the rocking chair and stared at Una for a long moment before saying, “You again.  I told you he’s mine.” She looked over her shoulder at Pike, who still had not moved. “He just doesn’t know it, yet.”

“Vina,” Una surmised.

“The smart one,” Vina said.  “What happened to the pretty one?”

“She left the service.  Went into demographic analysis.  Married with two children, last I heard.  She leaned forward on her elbows. “I wonder if you’re really even Vina.”

Vina scowled.  “How about you stop pretending you’re Pike’s Number One for a moment and let me know what I’m supposed to do with you?  Are you here to get him to talk? I’d like that. He’s too quiet, and he’s angry. He spent most of the first day he was here throwing things and now all he does is sit there and look out at the sky.  I can’t even get him interested in the horses.”

“How do you know it’s even him?”

“Now why would you say that?”  Vina settled into a wicker chair next to Una.  “You know how much I hate it when you mess with me.  But then, I suppose you like irritating me. Makes me more interesting.”

“Vina,” Una moved to address the matter at hand more directly.  “The Talosians lured my ship here and have taken my crew, all three hundred and fifteen of them.  Pike wasn’t on my ship, he was promoted to a desk job a long time ago. Last I’d heard he was in some sort of an accident.”

Vina scoffed, hands on her hips, and looked down at Una.  “So you’re telling me you’re the same woman who was here thirteen years ago, when he visited the first time, and not a construct built from my memory of you?”  Her mouth twisted in disbelief.

Una nodded.  “I can’t prove it, any more than you can prove that you’re real, or that he is.  But yes.”

Vina walked across the veranda to lean against one of the support posts.  She chucked her chin at Pike. “Oh he’s real. Took a lot of doing to get him here, too.”

“So you were involved in that?”

“I wanted him back.  The Talosians thought it over for a while and they weren’t as interested in starving to death as they thought they were.  So we put together a plan.”

“A plan to kidnap ships full of humans to take care of them,” Una said.

Vina smiled.  “We get their machines working, get them out onto the surface, and eventually return to the stars.  And I get Captain Pike.”

“Commodore Pike,” Una corrected absently.  “I take it he refuses to cooperate.”

Vina sagged into a willow chair, her arms hanging down between her knees, the picture of a petulant child.  “He hasn’t been asked to do anything. The Talosians have left him entirely alone here, with me. They don’t even change the scenery.  He eats, sometimes. He goes to bed, gets up, sits out here. Hasn’t said one word to me since the first day.”

“You can tell your Talosian friends that I don’t plan to cooperate, either.”  Una got up from the rocker, walked around Vina, and squeezed in beside Pike on the porch steps.  “Commodore,” she said to acknowledge him, not expecting an answer. “They have my ship. And my crew.  At present, waiting them out is my only option.”

Pike ignored her.

Una pressed on.  “I am myself, your Number One.  I cannot prove that I am, and I do not expect you to trust anything in this place, even me.  But I prefer to associate myself with you than with her.” She helped herself to half his sandwich.

Beyond the horses lay a field, plowed but not yet planted.  In the distance, a human figure busied itself around a piece of agricultural equipment.  It was going to be a long day, but the surroundings were more pleasant than the plain cell in which she had spent the previous day.  She wondered when the Talosians would make their next appearance.  

*

Spock arose early to spend extra time in meditation.  While working through the visualizations, he took some time to consider what had happened between the two of them.  He had delighted, secretly, in Jim’s presence even before having known it so intimately, but he worried that the relationship they had built so carefully would be strained by the constant closeness.  He knew that human telepaths did exist, but they were quite rare and as he did not recall ever having met one, he was unsure whether Jim could ever be expected to master a level of shielding that would afford either of them privacy.  He could see how, if they were unable to gain control of the link they had formed, it would make both of their lives much more difficult in the long run.

For his own part, he required solitude and privacy in order to meditate properly, to maintain his emotional controls.  A bond between two Vulcans ought to pose little problem in that regard, the control of one helping to shore up that of the other, but Jim’s emotions were a valuable tool for him, and it would be neither realistic nor fair to expect him to suppress them.  Spock had no firsthand experience of a full marriage bond, only of a barely perceptible betrothal link that both he and the woman to whom he had been betrothed actively resented, for similar reasons. His father’s actions yesterday, supporting Jim so that he could lend strength to Spock during his ordeal under the mind sifter might indicate that his relationship with his father might be salvageable, but he still hesitated to ask him personal information about his marriage to his mother.

Jim, on the other hand, was clearly suffering from his inability to touch and be touched.  He was a physically demonstrative and affectionate person, but the level of ability that had been awakened in him was paradoxically isolating.  And that didn’t even bring the issue of sex to the fore. Spock was dreading the inevitable discussion of  _ pon farr _ with him, but he was more concerned that if they did not learn to control their tendency to drop into deep melds at the slightest touch, they would be unable to consummate their relationship at all, which would be frustrating at best for Jim, but at worst could be dangerous if they were unable to perform together when Spock’s body demanded that they do so.  His visit with the ship’s healer had confirmed signs of sexual maturation, though it would likely be several months before his time came.

Spock’s shields were as intact as they were going to be for the day.  Despite being unable to resolve the issues that his meditations had brought forward, he determined that he should return to awareness and wake the captain, so that they would both be ready for the day when the morning meal arrived.  

He approached Jim’s bed.  “Are you awake, Jim?”

It wasn’t strictly necessary for him to speak to awaken the captain, but he found the practice reassuring after his struggle to find words the previous day.  In contrast, the captain took advantage of not being required to form his early morning thoughts into words. He received the impression of mild irritation along with affection.

Within twenty seconds, Jim rolled onto his side and sat up, scrubbed his face with his hands and reached out as though he were about to grip Spock’s shoulder, then snapped his hand back, frustrated.  “I’m going to head for the sonic,” he said.

“Clothing has been provided for your use,” he said.  

Jim shook his head.  “I put my uniform in the ‘fresher.  I’ll wear that.” Spock entertained the possibility that Jim’s rejection of Vulcan clothing was an expression of a desire to avoid associating too much with Spock’s home planet.  It was an inclination he shared, to an extent, but it gave him pause. Jim paused at the ‘fresher door. “We’re still Starfleet,” the captain clarified. “We need those spooks from intel to remember that.”

“Your logic is impeccable,” he told his captain as he disappeared into the sonic shower.  He took advantage of Jim’s brief absence to change into his own uniform.

Jim emerged from the sonic still pulling on his shirt.  Spock noted that he was showing off again. Though his own patterns of attraction didn’t respond particularly to the hard won musculature on Jim’s bare torso, he did appreciate it on an aesthetic level.   _ I can’t touch you, I might as well tease you, _ Kirk kidded, the shower having put him in a somewhat better mood.

Once dressed, Kirk pulled open a cabinet and collected a few packets of prepared food.  “Want something?”

“I am content to wait until first meal.”

“I haven’t been this ravenous since…” Kirk suddenly cut off what he was going to say, suddenly frightened...horrified?  He concentrated on a series of unrelated images, insistently. Bright flowers, himself sitting on the bridge of his ship, the Academy library, Spock’s own face.  In a couple of seconds he appeared to realize that he was focusing so hard on the images that he was shoving them at Spock and shielded clumsily.

Spock nodded, not understanding but not wishing to intrude.  “It is not necessary for you to delay your meal.”

Jim, more than Spock, suffered from the enforced inactivity caused by their confinement to quarters.  There was insufficient room for exercise, they were denied access to the ship’s computer systems, and his persistent vertigo prevented him from participating in the physically active forms of meditation that suited him best.  Jim found a chair and began to pluck pieces of dried fruit out of the package. “These are good,” he said. “Kind of like dates, but spicy and a little smoky. Chipotle dates,” he mused. He tapped his feet absently while he chewed.

Spock waited for Kirk to complete his breakfast, then said, “Would you care to join me in meditation?”

Kirk sighed.  “I ought to,” he said.  He sat cross legged on the floor, a certain weary resignation emanating from him.  “You know, they do teach meditation techniques to humans, for stress relief and so forth.  I’ve never really been good at it. Too restless, I guess.”

Spock quirked an eyebrow at him.  “Indeed.” He sat down in front of his captain, realized they were too close to each other and would drift together once they were no longer vigilant, and slid back half a meter.  Clearly, Kirk’s psionic field was more powerful than it had been the previous day. Doctor McCoy had informed him it would increase, slowly, and would finally stabilize within three more days, but the effect was disconcerting.

He began the initial forms, controlling the breath, quieting the mind, assessing the body in stages so that it could be dismissed to allow him to settle his thoughts further.  In truth, he had spent sufficient time in meditation before the captain woke, though any additional time could be devoted to redacting the residual effects of the mind-sifter. The purpose of this exercise was to guide the captain into some semblance of mental harmony before they arrived at Gol and he was required to interact with the adepts, which he would certainly manage with diplomacy and reasonable grace, and more concerningly, with Starfleet Intelligence.  They would both have to interact with Commander Phillips without throwing her across a room.

He thinned his shield slightly, an invitation.  Kirk touched lightly, shifted his focus, and settled into stillness, but could hold the state for less than five minutes before he became restless.  His mind’s need for stillness warred with his body’s need for motion. After seventeen minutes, Spock terminated his meditation. Kirk opened his eyes.  “I told you, I’m just too impatient.”

Spock considered.  A memory rose to the surface, possibly triggered by his brief view of Kirk without his shirt earlier.  “Captain, when was the last time you ran?”

“Why?”

“I have observed on a number of occasions that, when you include a run in your exercise program, your demeanor and mental acuity improve in a manner that resembles my own  experience after meditation. Long distance running is an activity for which humans are, among humanoid species, unusually well suited, and you seem to be no exception.”

“That doesn’t exactly help me, here,” Kirk noted.

“We will be arriving at Gol today.  There are paths within the mountain that are suitable for such exercise.”

“It’s certainly worth a try.  I’m sure Bones would be thrilled.  He’s been on me about adding more aerobic exercise to my routine for months.”

The pervasive sound of the warp engines changed.  “We have dropped out of warp,” Spock noted.

“Finally,” Jim said.

“My mother is sequestered at Gol as well.  I believe that she will find meeting you gratifying.”

“I look forward to meeting her, too,” Jim told him, and again reached out to squeeze his hand, pulling away only at the last second to make a fist and pound it into his on palm.  “I’ll stop forgetting one of these days.” He dropped onto the bed. “At least it was you. I almost hugged Bones the last time I saw him. Could you imagine? He’d absolutely…” his voice trailed off suddenly and Spock felt his own chest tighten with an ill-defined emotion.

“Are you concerned that your relationship with Doctor McCoy will change?”

“Has changed.”  Spock winced internally.  “It’s not you. I don’t think he finds,” Kirk gestured between them with an open hand, “what's happened between us offensive or anything.”  He pressed his fist to his mouth in thought.

“What is it, then?”

Kirk turned away.  “I scare him, Spock.  He’s my best friend, we’ve been through everything together, and now he looks at me like...like when he looks out into the black and you know that he sees sudden death.  That’s how he looks at me.”

Spock almost told Jim that McCoy didn’t see him that way, but realized that wasn’t what he needed.  McCoy had always struggled with his personal prejudices. Spock had given him the benefit of the doubt at first based only on the strength of his friendship with Jim, and later when his actions consistently defied the words he sometimes fell back on when his fears were too much to bear.  Instead, he said, “Your friendship is strong enough to survive this.”

“I hope you’re right,” Jim said.

*

“Oh be quiet.  I tire of your constant complaints,” Phillips snapped at the red haired woman who stood hunched over the small suitcase she held in her arms as if it were a child.  “Come on.”

“I just don’t understand.  Why am I on Vulcan? Why am I a prisoner?  What did I do?” Jeanette Mia Colt had asked the same questions a dozen times since the transport from Earth arrived and the MP had transferred her into Phillips’ custody.  It was becoming tiresome.

“Classified.”

“How long am I going to be here?”

“Classified.”

“I haven’t done anything wrong!”

“Be silent.”  She turned on the woman.  “You are a former Starfleet yeoman.  You can be recalled to service in time of war.  Whether you know it or not, you have had contact with our enemies.”

“But I’ve never…”

“Be silent.  Your weakness disgusts me.”

She delivered the woman to a pair of Vulcan cold fish and turned down a separate corridor to where she had been provided quarters to share with Lieutenants Luna and Nelson.

Nelson met her at the door.  “I just finished decrypting the message from Commodore Marcus.”

Phillips checked, as was her habit, that the three scramblers they had placed around the table in their quarters were in working order before proceeding.  “What are our orders?”

“The operation has been designated Scorched Earth.  Section’s working on an automated weapons system that can reliably sterilize Talos IV.  Because the Talosians live underground, according to reports, neutron irradiation is not considered reliable.  They are examining charting records of the Talos system to assess the viability of collecting debris within system to load into a mass driver.”

“Mass drivers require a lot of mass,” Luna noted.  “So, given the limited power we can transport with an unmanned ship, that’s a slow option.”

Phillips cut them off.  “Have all contaminated personnel and former personnel been relocated to Gol?”

“There’s a geologist on a deep space mission in the boonies.  We’ve recalled him, but the science vessel he’s on won’t even rendezvous with a transport for another two weeks.”

“Understood.  Suggest increased surveillance of the ship he’s on to the folks up the line.”

“We also have orders for a standard cut and run setup to be placed here.  The structure of the cave system is a challenge to the placement of charges, however.”

“Start by getting good scans, especially of the locations where the contaminated personnel will be housed.  It may be necessary to use an alternate method of cleansing the facility. At need, of course.”

“Of course,” Nelson agreed.  “Section believes the Enterprise was released in order to trigger a large scale, manned assault on Talos IV.  Any contaminated personnel advocating for such an assault are to be isolated and if necessary, eliminated.”

“And how much are we supposed to trust the word of these mystic freaks about who is and is not contaminated?” Phillips asked.

“They have been used to assist with debriefs before on occasion.  Not this group at Gol, of course, but Vulcan operatives within the organization.”  Luna shrugged. “Section considers their reports to be reliable.”

"But we’re the boots on the ground,” Nelson noted.  “We have latitude.”

“Exactly,” Phillips said.  “Use your discretion.”

 


	12. Game Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirk, Spock, and other members of the bridge crew arrive on Vulcan, where a strategy to neutralize the Talosian threat is discussed.

The temperature outside was forty-eight degrees Celsius. As soon as Kirk’s molecules reconstituted themselves sufficiently to expose him to those temperatures, sweat sprung up on his forehead and began to trickle down his sides and back. Spock and Sarek stood on either side of him, shielded auras smooth as blown glass. His own attempt was most likely ragged and childish by comparison, but he hoped it at least blunted the edge of his nervousness enough that he wouldn’t give offense. A man and woman in Starfleet Intelligence blacks, accompanied by a short, round Vulcan in cream colored robes approached them.

“This way,” the Vulcan said.

They passed underground into broad tunnels of perfectly smoothed stone lit at intervals with clever LED lights designed to resemble torches. “This way, Captain Kirk,” his guide said. He turned down a smaller corridor, while Sarek led Spock in the opposite direction. Kirk’s heart hammered against his ribcage. He hadn’t expected to be on his own quite so soon. Still, he followed his guide meekly down the hallway, knowing that for the moment, he remained a prisoner in all but name.

“We have prepared lodging for our Starfleet guests,” the Vulcan said. “Adept T’Pau reports that you have been examined and are free to join your crewmates.”

“What about Spock?”

“The adepts wish to examine your bondmate in order to determine whether the links the Talosians placed can be removed or blocked.”

“And if they can’t?”

“The naturally occurring metal content of the stone that makes up these caves blunts the ability of telepathic signals to penetrate. He will be required to remain here. In addition, all persons to whom he is bonded will be required to choose whether to remain here with him or have the bonds excised.”

“I’m staying.”

“I surmised as much. I am Sovar, elder brother of Ambassador Sarek and a Healer here. I have been informed of the nature of your bond with Spock and am available to consult at need.”

The Vulcan rounded another corner and palmed a lock. A door slid into a recess in the stone wall. He could hear familiar voices inside: Scotty, Uhura, Bones. “Captain!” they shouted as he entered the room. Bones hurried toward him, medical tricorder in hand, a gesture he knew was more about welcoming him and reassuring himself than any actual medical need. 

In more ordinary times, he’d have hugged his friend, but he settled for smiling and waving him off. “I’m all right, really.”

“And Spock? How is he?”

Kirk looked back toward the doorway. “The mind sifter took a lot out of him, but he’s getting better. Not quite his old self yet, but better.”

He glanced around the room. Chapel reclined on a couch with a datapad, reading. A Vulcan woman sat at a table deep in discussion with three scientists from Spock’s department. He couldn’t see them clearly enough to put names to them. A woman he didn’t know sat hunched in a cushioned chair, a floral print travel bag on her lap. Underneath the pale yellow caul of her aura, her eyes were red and puffy. She wore civilian clothes, a light sundress and sandals. A middle aged woman, human, but wearing Vulcan robes sat beside her, the younger woman’s hand clasped between her own.

“Who are they?” he asked McCoy.

“The older one is Spock’s mother, Amanda Grayson. She’s been a godsend to everyone here. Made sure the temperature controls were set to human specifications, made some dietary suggestions, and she’s just always there. Like a cabin mom at summer camp. The younger one is Mia Colt. She was a yeoman on the Enterprise thirteen years ago, ended up on the planet with Pike.”

“Thanks,” Kirk said. This Mia Colt might not be a member of his crew, but she was here now, and that made her his responsibility. He made his way over to where she sat.

Amanda acknowledged him first. “Captain Kirk. I’ve heard so much about you from Spock.”

“Mostly good, I hope,” he joked, then turned his attention to Mia.

“I shouldn’t be here,” Mia said.

Kirk nodded. “None of us want to be here.”

“I’ve been out of Starfleet for eleven years. I’ve got kids. Who’s taking care of my kids?” She rubbed tears out of her eyes absently, as though she’d been crying long enough that wiping her face was becoming routine. “I never did anything wrong.”

Kirk pressed his lips into a line, his gaze taking in both women. “I keep thinking I must have. I should have figured out that something was wrong sooner. Not that it would have made a difference for the Yorktown.”

Mia continued, punching the bag on her lap with her clasped hands for emphasis. “I’m not Starfleet. Not anymore. I’m done with that life.”

Kirk nodded understanding. “I don’t expect you to. You have someone at home?”

“My husband. Theo.”

“He handy with the kids?” Kirk asked.

“Loves them to pieces.” Mia chuckled through her tears. 

Amanda smiled and said, “I bet they miss you. But Theo can handle it. I’m sure you wouldn’t be with him if he couldn’t.”

“We’re going to solve this and get back to our lives. I promise,” Kirk said. He would figure something out. He had to.

Chapel walked over to them with a cup of tea in each hand. “You want to come set up your room with me?”

Mia shrugged. Chapel turned to the Captain. “How is Spock? Have they let you see him?”

Kirk let out a long sigh. “We were in the same quarters for the trip out. Intel did a number on him, but he’s recovering.”

“What did Starfleet Intelligence do to my son?” Amanda’s voice was cold steel.

Kirk was still deciding to what degree he should censor his response when Chapel answered for him. “Bastards used a Klingon mind-sifter on him for two and a half hours. He’s lucky to be alive.”

“Captain, did you allow this?” Amanda asked, her voice hardening.

“I was confined to quarters at the time. I suggest you speak to Sarek about the details.”

Mia shrank a little deeper into her slouch. “So I guess I shouldn’t complain about the thing the Vulcans did.” She waved one hand vaguely in the direction of her head.

Amanda patted Mia’s hand. “It’s not a contest. You have every right to be upset.”

Bones walked up, clearly catching the tail end of the conversation. “Complaining is one of the great joys in life. Never give up your right to complain.”

A patch of sunset behind his eyes made him turn. Spock stood in the doorway, his face drawn. Kirk stood up too fast, forgetting to account for the three other people around him, took an ill measured step, and fell spectacularly on the cut stone floor, skinning his elbow and badly spraining his dignity. Spock rushed over to kneel beside him. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said, more to reassure everyone else. Spock was already surely aware of precisely how much his skinned elbow hurt and that Kirk’s self respect would never recover in the face of his magnificent pratfall. Kirk sat up, resting the injured arm in its torn shirtsleeve--he’d never hear the end of that either from Bones--on his knee. “I’m glad to see you,” Kirk said.

Spock accepted Kirk’s words with a slight nod. “I regret that the Talosians’ link cannot be broken at a distance. Ms. Colt and I must remain here until a way is found to neutralize their ability to project to us.” He spoke a little louder, to gain the attention at least of McCoy and Chapel, who were near enough to hear. “Those of you who are here because of unintentionally formed familial bonds may have them excised and return to duty if you choose.”

“As far as I’m concerned, figuring out how to take down the Talosians is our duty,” Scott said. “I’m not willing to walk away when I’ve been played for a fool.”

“I’m not leaving you two to your own devices,” McCoy agreed, indicating Kirk and Spock.

Uhura and Chapel looked at each other and shook their heads. Uhura added, “I’ve got some ideas for interference pattern algorithms that might block the Talosians’ telepathy. I’d like to get to work on that.”

The tall, willowy woman in Science blue, Lieutenant Lim, agreed. “There may be some applications of subspace physics that can be brought to bear on the problem.”

Kirk made a note to check in with each member of the crew privately later to ensure they weren’t merely bowing to group pressure, but at present he felt a smile spreading across his face. “Glad to have you all. Let’s get to work getting all of us out of here.”

*

Kshir was removed from sensory deprivation after enough time that, when she was placed in the plain stone cell with the large window, she was unable to make sense of the space. She lay on the foam bed staring up at the dark gray ceiling, unwilling at first to even try to sit because she couldn’t be sure if it was thirty centimeters from her face or thirty meters.

When she waved her arm in front of her face, it moved freely, so she propped herself up onto her elbows and found she had to wait again, as the sound of her body moving against the foam was too loud for her ears to tolerate. She had been afforded no clocks. Hunger told her it was time to eat something, but so far no bland white cubes and tangy blue liquid had been provided.

Once she could stand, she explored the room thoroughly, poking both her fingers and her nose into every crevice, memorizing the smell of the ventilation system, the scent of a human nearby when she pressed her nose to the join between the floor and the window telling her that she was not being held far from her companions. There were two separate humans, neither of them identifiable as individuals, but both young, in their twenties, she thought, one of each sex, their pheromones redolent of exhaustion and long running fear. The scent of two Talosians lingered, weak enough that neither was probably present. One was the diffident creature who had tried to take her hunting.

For now, she had nothing to do but reaccustom her body to moving about by pacing the small room. She retracted her finger pads when she next sat, then gripped the edge of the foam mattress and poked a series of precise holes in its side. If she returned here, she might recognize the space by the marks.

*

There were two more human figures in the distance this morning. They were too far away for Una to see what they were supposed to be doing, but they both appeared and disappeared between a line of windbreak pines several times over the course of a couple of hours. Una jogged Pike’s shoulder and pointed them out, but he shrugged her off.

She wanted to check out the situation, in case they were members of her crew, but she didn’t want to leave Pike alone with Vina. “Walk with me, Commodore,” she said, standing.

He didn’t move, so she hauled him to his feet. “I don’t know what’s up with you, but you’re using passive resistance as an excuse to sit around feeling sorry for yourself. This is recon. Let’s go.”

He followed without enthusiasm. She kept up a running commentary. “What I can’t figure out, since you won’t talk and Vina won’t tell me, is how you ended up back here.”

Pike stopped walking to stare at the ground.

“Just tell me what happened.”

Pike’s mouth worked. “Spock,” he said.

“What did Spock do?”

“Fucking idiot,” he said.

She decided to press the issue later. They were coming up on the line of pines. Half a dozen people, all but one of them human, the last a violet faced Aoke she recognized as Ensign Yaa, were using a couple of earth movers to rearrange a pile of boulders.

As she got closer, she was able to recognize other faces, put them to names. Silva and Porter from Engineering, Sadari from security. Sadari saw her first. He placed the vehicle in park and swung out of the seat. “Captain on deck,” he said.

“Captain,” a couple of other voices acknowledged.

“What are you doing here?” She reminded herself to interact with them as though they were real, even though there was a good chance they weren’t. “Lieutenant Porter,” she said, singling out the ranking officer.

“We’re...clearing space for plantings. It seemed the humane thing to do.” Porter met her gaze calmly, almost challenging her.

“Humane thing?” she asked.

“They’re desperate people, ma’am.”

“Desperate enough to kidnap the crew of my ship,” she reminded him.

Porter continued, his posture stiffening, growing more formal. “Their illusions are the only technology they have. Their only way to ask for help.”

“They didn’t ask, Porter. And they could have, now, or thirteen years ago. Pike offered trade, normal relations. Hell, if that’s what they’d wanted they might have been serving right alongside us by now.” She turned to the rest of her crew. “You cannot tell me you believed this was Lieutenant Porter.”

Yaa shrugged. “Porter’s always arguing that we should push the edges of the Prime Directive to help people and coming home with abandoned baby animals and stuff.”

“You think I’m an imposter?” The probably fake Porter said, his voice sounding more hurt than angry. Which was very Porter.

“Yes, I do,” Una said.

“Did he order the rest of you to cooperate?”

The five of them nodded.

“Countermanded. We will not cooperate with these aliens.”

The five of them approached each other. Hands clasped hands. Arms reached around shoulders. Una stood a little clear of them, next to Pike. She regarded all five of them. It was likely that one more of them was also an illusion, a first follower to keep the other four in line, but she wasn’t sure which. A damp spring wind blew across their faces, but the air still smelled like Talos. She looked to her right, for Porter. He was gone.

*

_You were unsuccessful._

Daseh stood outside Lieutenant Porter’s cell. The man lay on his sleeping platform, still in nonpunitive sensory deprivation, the better that his mind would drift through his memories for Daseh to peruse. Xe released him carefully, so as not to shock his system. Xer attempt to simulate the officer in order to gain cooperation from the Yorktown crew had been initially successful, but Captain Una had seen through it with ease. The humans are intelligent and resourceful, and despite their mind-blindness, they know each other well.

 _Complete your work, then return to the control center. We will discuss your next assignment._

Daseh acknowledged the order, hoping xe had adequately shielded xer disgust with xemself at the deceit. Xe wasn’t fond of visiting the elders on their padded couches in the control center. They had seen xer interest in the humans and xer minor successes in communicating with them and had concluded that xe could serve their interests. The eldest Talosians, those reaching forty years or even a little more, interacted little with the world around them, preferring to spend all of their time in the memory files, and of late, perusing the uploaded memories of the human captives. Before they disengaged entirely, those elders who found power rewarding gravitated to the council, where they directed the activities of younger Talosians with varying degrees of wisdom. Little wisdom, mostly, xe allowed xemself to think, knowing that most of the youth felt the same way, but wouldn’t dare do more than grouse.

Xe collected xer tools and started back toward the north end of the cell block. The human doctor Hasan’s medicine had given Epol relief and some strength. Xe had been returned to xer work caring for the elders’ bodies. Daseh’s punishment detail continued despite the elders clearly knowing xe preferred it to xer regular duties. Xe was probably being used. Perhaps Hasan was right.

Daseh took xer time returning to the control center. It was empty, but charged with the mental presence of dozens of elders. The machine that amplified their power and bound them together so that they knew everything that happened in the compound and much of what happened in several thousand kilometers of space nearby sat in the corner. It was a big white box with vents on the sides, not unlike the many others that filled their underground settlement, more than half of which sat idle, broken in ways no one remembered how to repair. Perhaps this machine, too, would break soon. 

The elders rifled through xer memories and sent xem to the infirmary to see Hasan. Perhaps, they thought, he could convince Una, or Daseh’s furry friend Kshir, to cooperate. Daseh returned to the dormitory instead to talk to Epol. Much as she resented the elders’ control of xer and of the humans, talking to Hasan and perhaps getting him to talk to Una and Kshir might be worth doing.

*

The conference table was made of finely polished, shining sandstone rather than the flimsy, lightweight composite of a ship’s briefing room table. There were several clay jars of water and cups for each human sitting around it, and a bowl of slightly sweet pastries that had been placed near Kirk and that he continually reminded himself to leave alone except at need, and even then to be sure to use the small fork that rested on the edge of the bowl.

T’Pau and Sarek sat at one end of the table, dressed in short, black tunics very unlike the robes they usually wore. Beside them was a severe Vulcan woman he did not know. Starfleet was represented by Admiral Enwright, a man known for paranoia and a certain rigidity once he had his mind made up. Beside him sat Commander Phillips, the woman responsible for subjecting Spock, and Kirk by proxy, to the dangerous and ultimately useless torture Kirk was more than half sure was intended to cause Spock’s plausibly accidental death. She looked at Spock, sitting rigid beside him, as though she regretted his survival. Uhura, McCoy and Scotty had been permitted places at the table as well, and flanked Kirk and Spock to the left and right.

T’Pau began the meeting by introducing each individual at the table. The Vulcan woman’s name turned out to be T’Nes, and she was apparently a representative of the Vulcan Expeditionary Service with a rank roughly equivalent to Admiral Enwright’s. “We convene this meeting to determine our course of action in countering the Talosian threat,” T’Pau said, once introductions were completed. “It is the position of the Vulcan High Council that containing this threat is of the utmost strategic importance to the Federation as a whole.”

Enwright nodded. “We concur. And we thank you for providing sanctuary to those members of Starfleet most severely affected by the situation. It is the opinion of Starfleet Command that any assault on Talos IV must be carried out by an unmanned vessel, in order to prevent further loss of personnel. This limits our options.”

“Indeed,” T’Nes said. “Talos IV must be either fully and reliably contained, or it must be destroyed. Given that destroying all life on the planet’s surface would necessitate the sacrifice of four hundred and eight members of Starfleet and an unknown number of Talosians estimated in the thousands, but possibly numbering orders of magnitude higher, this course must not be entered into lightly.”

“The threat Talos IV presents, however, especially now that they have those four hundred intelligent, capable officers under their control, is not acceptable,” Enwright added.

T’Pau held up a hand. “In order to preserve the Federation from this existential threat, Talos must be neutralized. The physics involved make it impossible for any corporeal being to project mentally more than a few kilometers. Curiously, reports suggest that the Talosians have the capability to extend their reach much further, possibly as much as several thousand kilometers. This suggests to me that the Talosians have some means of technologically augmenting their natural abilities. Unfortunately, bonds propagate through a deeper layer of subspace and hence can be used for communication and apparently, control for distances of over one hundred light years.”

Uhura raised a hand. “Lieutenant?” T’Pau acknowledged.

Uhura tapped a few keys on her data pad to send a schematic to the others at the table. “I have been studying the behavior of r-neutrino fields and I think we can set up an interference pattern that could be broadcast from an array of satellites placed around the planet.”

T’Pau nodded. “An intriguing prospect.”

Phillips broke in. “Any satellite array will decay over time and cannot be considered a long term solution to the problem.”

Spock gestured toward T’Pau. She acknowledged him with a nod. “What are our plans to rescue Commodore Pike and the crews of the Yorktown and Celeste?”

“Trying to find a way to fix things after you screwed the pooch, Commander?” Enwright taunted. Phillips smiled.

“No, sir,” Spock replied. “I would advocate for my colleagues regardless of any part I played in their capture.”

T’Nes spoke next. “We have not been able to devise any plan that has a reasonable chance of recovering the captured personnel using unmanned craft. Plans which rely on sending a sentient crew have an unacceptable probability of failure.”

“So you’re just going to leave them there?” Scott said, raising a fist as though to pound it on the table, but recalling it at the last second.

“A rescue attempt would be an unacceptable waste of resources.”

Kirk took advantage of the brief pause. “So, this containment strategy, would it free the people with links to the Talosians?”

Uhura shook her head. “No, it would not. It would only contain their ability to project directly.”

Kirk leaned forward over the table. “So you’re telling me that my choices are containment, which means my first officer, Ms. Colt, and any of us who choose to remain with them are stuck here forever, or killing hundreds of our own people and thousands, maybe millions of Talosians.”

T’Pau inclined her head. “These are the options.”

Kirk pushed back his chair and stood. “Send us.”

“I fail to understand…”

“Those of us who are compromised are expendable. We make a plan to get our people out, and you send me and Spock to implement it. If we fail, you lose nothing.”

“Nothing but you!” McCoy protested.

“I do not intend to spend the rest of my life in a monastery under a mountain,” he protested. “I’m willing to take the risk.”

“As am I,” Spock said.

T’Pau turned to face them, considering. “One day. You may have one day to formulate a plan to rescue your people.” She allowed her eyes to rest on each person in the room in turn. “I will assist you in any way I can.”

Enwright spoke next. “We will have the automated craft ready in two weeks’ time. If their plan is not ready to launch at that time, we go with ours.”

“Understood,” T’Pau said. “Captain Kirk, Commander Spock, I assume you will wish to begin planning as soon as possible. I wish to meditate upon possible solutions using a small strike force of no more than eight persons before meeting with you. I will attend the two of you in your quarters in four standard hours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suspect some people might consider Pike's response to be excessively strong and kind of unfair. Remember, Pike spent over a month under their control before Spock showed up, the only thing he was hanging on to was the hope that Spock, who is smarter than the average bear, would figure out what was really going on.
> 
> Instead, Spock, too, was fooled, and Pike's disappointment and helplessness has caused him to become very bitter.
> 
> You're right that it's not fair.


	13. Negotiations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirk and Spock begin to negotiate the more intimate aspects of their relationship, starting of course with having a cringey conversation with Sarek and T'Pau.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While there is no actual sex in this chapter, there is some discussion of same that probably warrants an M rating.
> 
> Also there is some Tarsus related material in here.

Spock watched Kirk tidy his belongings in the small room they had been given to share. They had very little. Scott had been allowed to collect a few changes of clothing and a neutered data pad for each of them, Spock’s meditation candle, and a box of packaged snacks similar, but not identical to the one Kirk kept under his bed. Kirk had used his increased and erratic appetite to justify having it, but had been required to promise that he would keep it in the metal lockbox the Vulcan housekeeper provided to discourage pests. Given the size of a few of the things he’d caught skittering into darkened corners, he planned to follow that prescription conscientiously.

Someone outside touched the door chime. “Enter,” Spock said from where he sat on his bed. Their beds were bunked, as might be expected in a space which had to be hewn from solid rock, the top a narrow shelf, the lower extended outward that two might lie together if they chose. The door slid open to admit his father, carrying a tray stacked with covered bowls and flatbread.

Kirk immediately took a seat. “I appreciate you visiting, and bringing breakfast,” he said. Though he was obviously hungry, he waited for Spock and Sarek to sit and begin to eat before carefully copying the way they picked up the small triangles of bread with their bread tongs and dipped them into the soup.

“May I ask a personal question, Sarek?” Kirk said.

“I will not promise to answer.”

“You’re married to Spock’s mother. Are you bonded to her, the way I am to Spock?”

“Amanda is my bondmate, yes.” He paused. “Do you have a particular concern?’

Kirk shrugged. “I just don’t know how all this bonding stuff works. How much we’re supposed to share and what we’re supposed to try to keep to ourselves.”

Sarek nodded. “You must negotiate the balance on your own, as all couples do. Have you been physically intimate?”

Kirk spat out his spoonful of soup in shocked embarrassment. Perhaps humans did not speak of such matters with their close kin. Odd, given that Vulcans spoke of them with no one else. Spock lay his spoon across the top of his bowl. “We are unable to engage in any physical contact without immediately entering into a deep meld. We do not...I do not...have the skill to maintain awareness of my body in that state.”

Kirk was staring at him, horrified, but trying very hard not to press his own cultural hangups into the conversation. Upon becoming aware of Spock’s attention, he noted, _You have plenty of hangups without having to worry about mine._

“How is it that you lack this knowledge?” Sarek said.

Spock looked away from his father. “I ended my training before it was provided.”

“And why did I not hear of this?”

“As I was not suited to pursue professions that required additional training, I did not consider it critical to inform you.” The door chime sounded. Spock paid it little mind, his attention focused on the slight hardening of his father’s expression.

“And when exactly did this occur?”

Spock kept his tone matter of fact. “Shortly after I was betrothed to T’Pring. Both she and my instructor found my mind unpleasant to contact, and hence I concluded it was best I learn to appreciate solitude.” 

The door chime sounded a second time. Kirk said, “Enter,” this time, with an enthusiasm that suggested he was glad for an interruption to their conversation. T’Pring entered, looking regal as always, her long hair done up into two wide coils on the sides of her head. “I did not find you unpleasant because there was anything wrong with you, Spock,” she said, evidently having heard their conversation through the door. “I found you so because my mind is ill suited to bond with a male.”

Kirk was looking at T’Pring with an inexplicably wide grin. “Who did your hair?” he blurted. “You look like a princess from a classical Earth drama.”

“Nyota and I have been working on the r-neutrino capture system for the psi-blocking satellites, and she became fatigued after several hours. We took tea. She admitted to a certain fascination with the texture of my hair, and I with hers.”

Kirk controlled his facial expression, but his eyes still crinkled with merriment. Spock would have to ask him the cause. “So what brings you here?”

“It is clear that my betrothal link to Spock must be broken. T’Pau asked me to meet her here to discuss the matter.”

“I regret that my actions have caused the necessity,” Spock said.

T’Pring arched an eyebrow. “We were poorly matched, as are many children of high social standing.” She glared archly at Sarek before turning back to Spock. “I am gratified that you have found one who comforts your soul.”

“Will you be allowed to leave the complex once the betrothal link is broken?”

T’Pring considered. “I will, but I believe I will stay. I find the work and the company intriguing.”

She looked as though she were about to say more, but T’Pau appeared behind her. T’Pring stepped into the room to allow T’Pau to enter through the narrow stone doorway. T’Pau wasted no time with pleasantries. “The bond between Spock and T’Pring must be severed so that the bond between Spock and James may be fully realized. Is this the desire of all of you?”

“It is,” Spock said.

“It is,” T’Pring said.

“I just want everybody to be happy,” Kirk said, and was rewarded with a sharp look from the adept.

“We will proceed. James, the process can cause pain. Resist the instinct to interfere.”

The ladder to the top bunk consisted of indentations cut into the stone wall. Kirk climbed up carefully, holding on tight, and once on the bed turned away from the proceedings.

Spock had shielded his end of the connection to Jim before T’Pau joined her mind with T’Pring’s and his own. His consciousness was quieted and set aside, so that he observed passively but could not interfere and harm himself or the Adept. He became aware of a mounting pressure at the base of his skull. The pressure mounted until there was a sudden, sharply painful pop that felt almost pleasant in the aftermath, like the lancing of a boil, and a moment later he was released, the empty space in his mind filling with his bond to Kirk. Spock gathered Kirk’s mind up into an embrace, needing to assure himself that all was well. 

_You’re handsy in here._ Kirk teased.

T’Pring sat on the lower bunk with T’Pau, her relief mingling with a certain hollowness until she replaced her shields.

Their door chimed softly again. “Come,” he said.

Uhura stood in the threshold. “There you are, T’Pring,” she said. “I was...I was concerned when I couldn’t find you. Would you care to join me for the evening meal?”

“I would appreciate that very much,” T’Pring said, rising gracefully and following Uhura out. Their hands brushed, not accidentally, as she moved to close the door behind them.

“Your communications officer maintains more familial bonds than any sapient being I have ever encountered,” T’Pau noted wryly as the two women left the room, closing the door behind them. She turned to Kirk. “Have you considered how the captured Starfleet officers might be rescued?”

Kirk nodded. “I spoke to Lim and Uhura about the devices they are working on. They sound like they’ll divert the particle flow around the planet, but that they’re not the kind of thing that can be used on the ground. Dr. McCoy suggested a psi suppressant to be delivered to the aliens’ living spaces in gaseous form, something that would incapacitate the Talosians while leaving their prisoners mobile. The drawback is that we have to get into orbit and beam up a Talosian in order to fine tune the gas.”

“The other drawback is that Doctor McCoy will be required on site to formulate the suppressant,” Spock noted.

“He insisted on coming with us anyway.” Kirk said. “So, my idea was to follow the unmanned vessel into the Talos system, dose ourselves with the anger-inducing cocktail, and beam up a Talosian. We do our tests, create the formula, and release it strategically on the surface, then beam down to assist the crews of the ships. We’ll need something big, but simple, like a freighter, that we can control, but will fit everyone in it for us to make our escape.”

“This will not work,” T’Pau said.

Spock turned to her. “Explain.”

“Starfleet Intelligence plans to use mass drivers regardless of your research. To save your people, you must arrive before their vessel is able to complete its task.”

“How long do we have to prepare?” Kirk said.

“To be safe, you must leave in two weeks. I am unfamiliar with the operation of the anger inducing drugs your physician uses. How long are they effective?”

“About thirty minutes per dose.”

T’Pau frowned. “This seems insufficient time. You have created a mission that is certain to end in your failure and death. Do you expect the expenditure of material resources upon it?”

Spock looked from Kirk to T’Pau, a terrifying idea occurring to him. It was a supremely logical solution to the problem, and yet it made a mockery of traditions he knew his great aunt held dear. He stood and walked away from the two of them to face the closed door to their room. “The possibility of success would be greatly improved if we were able to maintain a mental state the Talosians would find unbearable for hours to days,” he said, steeling himself for his next words. “My hormone profile, as provided to me by Healer Sovar when I arrived here, indicated that I will enter the _pon farr_ within the next several months.”

T’Pau considered briefly. “As I said, it is not feasible to wait. Time is short.”

“It is a biologically uncomplicated hormone cascade. As such, the process could be accelerated at need.”

T’Pau considered. “You must discuss this matter with your bondmate. I will consider tactically accelerating your time on three conditions: First, you must explain to your bondmate what the _pon farr_ entails. Second, your success depends upon you being able to move and fight as one, even when physically separated. There must be absolute trust between the two of you.”

“I trust Spock with my life,” Kirk said.

“But not with your pain. You must share this with your bondmate. Spock, ask him why he must keep food where he sleeps. Finally, you must consummate the bond as soon as possible. The human is more fragile than you. If you are not well acquainted with each other’s bodies, you are likely to harm him, should you survive your mission long enough to mate.”

Sarek interrupted, “They are not trained in _dvun-teretuhr_.”

“Well,” T’Pau said. “In James’ case, that is understandable. His is an exceptional talent, and quite new to him. Whoever was made responsible for your training, Spock, was either incompetent or seriously remiss. I will send Sovar to work with you both. In the meantime, your other two assignments hold. I will return tomorrow.”

*

“Why do you keep food in your room?”

“What is a _pon farr_?”

“You first,” they both said.

When Kirk’s pause went on a little too long, Spock took a breath and began. “It is a Vulcan biological imperative.”

“Okay,” Kirk prompted.

“Vulcans experience an overwhelming need to mate approximately once in every seven years.” He paused, clearly aware of the question in Kirk’s mind. “We are capable of sexual activity at other times, though we are not fertile.”

“Pretty sure that’s not going to be an issue.”

Spock struggled to meet Kirk’s eyes. “True. During our time, the _pon farr_ , we become emotional and quick to anger. If we are kept from mating with our bonded, we grow irrational, violent and increasingly physically ill. If the urge to mate is not satisfied, a male will almost certainly die. The progression from first symptoms to the blood fever, the _plak tow_ , can take anywhere from five to twelve days.” He paused.

Kirk nodded. “Okay, I think we can deal with that.” The shame coming off Spock as he described the condition was palpable, and alien to Kirk, who had been raised to see sex as an intrinsic good.

Spock continued. “I will not be fully myself and may injure you. Because of our bond, you will experience the symptoms along with me.”

So they could both avoid the drug cocktail. “Well that sounds perfect! If we time the dosages correctly to coincide with our arrival on Talos we should be able to complete the mission and ah...finish the job once we’re back on the ship. All we have to do is keep from throwing ourselves at each other until we finish the mission.”

“Ideally…” Spock sounded dubious. “We will have to be physically separated until the mission begins. We may not be able to keep from throwing ourselves at each other, as you say.” 

Kirk found the prospect more intriguing than he dared say aloud. “Look, I know this is probably the most dangerous mission we have ever undertaken. This...blood fever isn’t even the most likely thing to kill us.”

Spock looked away from Kirk, clearly embarrassed by Kirk’s reaction through the bond. “ _Pon farr_ is shameful for us to experience and discuss,” he said.

“I’ve had a lot of practice controlling my sexual impulses. You may just have to trust me to keep you focused, for a change.” He paused, wishing he could take Spock’s hands in his. “I tell you what, we survive this, seven years from now we are having a _pon farr_ vacation. We’re going to celebrate. Just the two of us.”

Spock looked at him like he had sprouted horns. After a short, incredulous silence, he said, “Why do you keep several days’ worth of food in your quarters?”

Kirk sighed. _Pon farr_ was an infinitely more pleasant subject than Tarsus. He would rather discuss it with T’Pau at length than talk about the worst year of his life. Even thinking through what he wanted to say about Tarsus was like poking a landmine with a stick. “I want you to know that talking about this is going to give me nightmares. And once I start talking about it I might have flashbacks and there’s stuff I’d rather you not have to see.”

This time Spock was the one to reach abortively for Kirk, then withdraw his hand. “I am willing to endure whatever comes. Do not shut me out.”

Kirk took a steadying breath. “I was on Tarsus IV.”

Spock sat silent for a long time, his thoughts shocked into static. “I...grieve with thee.”

Kirk forced himself to continue. “I was fourteen. They gathered us together, everyone Kodos had decided wasn’t worth saving. I ran away with some other kids who were at the back of the crowd.” He shuddered, the image of phaser rifles firing into the crowd flashing before his eyes, the scene running in disjointed fragments, actual memory mixed with the lurid fantasy of a thousand nightmares, the sound of screaming, the acrid smell of burning fabric and hair. His memory fixed on his friend Tom, half his face burned off, the remains of his eye hanging grotesquely against his cheek as they ran.

At first, he barely registered that he was not alone, but eventually the feeling of being supported, as if by arms holding him from behind, intruded into the flashback and he was able to shy away from it slightly, not entirely, but enough to see it a little at a distance. He was still in the gray-black, dying woods, hiding under brush and litter--a metaphor only, in reality the native species were never affected by the blight. He was also in the garden nook surrounded by moss roses, potted olive trees, and gracefully sweeping grasses in warm shades of russet and deep gold. _These can last hours once they get started_. Kirk told Spock.

_Then we will endure them together_. Kirk’s attention was still divided between Kodos’ speech, which he could recite in its entirety in his sleep (because he often did), the smell of mass death, and the stone bench in the garden and didn’t he wish more of his attention could remain in the garden if only the rest would just shut up. He had a vague impression that Spock was studying the precise way Kirk’s distorted memories forced themselves into his consciousness.

Spock’s attention shifted from the memories to Kirk’s consciousness within them. _Focus on me_ , he said. Kirk tried, but his mind slipped off, distracted by a parade of horrors. Closer, Spock encouraged, and it did seem that they grew closer, Kirk surrounded by Spock and held fast by him, as though he were in a creche, and Kirk recognized the sensation as much like what he had done with Sarek’s help when Spock had been under the mind sifter.

Spock caught the reference and searched Kirk’s memory more directly, shifted his focus slightly and they fell together, much as they had done by accident when they slept in each other’s arms. The memories of Tarsus, fragmented and distorted, still occupied their attention, but they could view them with a certain detachment. They drew away from the trauma-distorted images, imagining them as pulses of sickly light in a network of twinkling chains and webs stretching off into the distance in all directions. If one were to push on them just...so...they could be persuaded to dim and eventually to go out entirely, though they still existed as a sort of thrumming potential that could be reawakened, given the right stimulus.

Freed from the flashback itself, they tested the boundaries of this new environment they had created, wondering if there were an unlimited number of these inner worlds they could create together. They ended up in the Iowa cornfield in autumn, adolescent voices shouting indistinctly around them. It was just past sunset, and the corn had been cut into a maze and decorated with plastic skeletons and carved pumpkins for Halloween. Kirk and a friend-who-was-a-girl had pushed through the corn stalks to make an alcove where they could “practice kissing”. It had been sloppy and awkward, but punctuated by a fair amount of innocent giggling. It was possibly the last pleasant memory he had of living in Iowa, everything after being tainted by the intervening months spent offworld. He didn’t allow himself to speak the name of the place again, not even in their minds, lest the memories they were holding at bay resurface again.

They had separated a little, enough that Kirk, wearing the form of his thirteen year old self, could imagine sitting next to Spock, who had matched his age in the memory. _Thirteen was not my favorite age_ , Spock noted.

_I was much less fond of fourteen_ , Kirk replied, half testing his ability to talk around the trauma, to approach it without touching it.

_Your first kiss was with a girl_ , Spock noted.

_I...I guess I’m not really picky. I could imagine falling in love with almost anyone. A woman, a man, a sentient gas cloud...people just make me feel happy_. He tried to reflect the feeling he was trying and failing to put into words, to make it clear that the way he felt about people didn’t mean he wasn’t ready to be with just one other, always and forever--he thought.

Spock accepted his uncertainty with more grace than Kirk had been willing to hope for. _My romantic history is quite sparse, as you might imagine. T’Pring and I always knew that we were bonded to each other not so much because we were a good fit for each other, but because we were such a poor fit for anyone else that our families despaired of finding a better match_.

Kirk’s mind flashed briefly back to T’Pring’s brief interaction with Uhura.

_Indeed. I have never been kissed, in either the Vulcan or human fashion._

Kirk started in surprise. _I guess that would be a place to start, then. I think we should head back, I mean, to our room_.

Their withdrawal was a little less awkward each time, Spock finding that concentrating on the difference in their heart rates could begin the process of allowing them to separate, Kirk generally able to center on his breath once the contact began to lighten. They emerged to find themselves seated beside each other on the bottom bunk. Spock pulled out Kirk’s box of snacks and passed him some of the slightly spicy datelike fruit he had mentioned enjoying on the ship.

“I’m going to have to brush my teeth before we practice kissing,” Kirk said.

“Not if we start with Vulcan kisses, as my mother would call them,” Spock countered. “My parents were affectionate in the presence of their children. I believe I am familiar with the general principle.”

Kirk plucked a bottle of water out of his stash and chugged it. The temperature within the caves wasn’t the forty plus degrees Celsius that characterized outdoor daytime temperatures, but it still hovered between twenty eight and thirty degrees, a temperature that made exertion less than comfortable and kept him in need of more water than usual. He leaned toward Spock a little, curious. The movement sent him nearly crashing again, and he and Spock both shielded hard to prevent from falling into each other’s minds. “Somehow I don’t think this is going to work.”

“Vulcan healers have ability levels similar to ours, and yet they survive _pon farr_ and successfully bear children, hence there must be a solution.”

“Your logic is impeccable,” Kirk said, noticing the flirtation coming back into his voice.

“So.” Spock held out his index and ring finger, the other fingers curled tight against the palm. “This hand position is controlled, decorous. It is acceptable for public displays of affection. In moderation.”

Kirk copied the hand position carefully. He felt like he ought to hold on to something with the other hand, but the bunks were shelves carved directly out of the rock and had no bedposts. He smiled, trying to reassure himself as much as Spock. Rubbing their fingers together was not at all where he wanted their physical relationship to end up, but he had to start somewhere, and he had to admit, maybe the way this telepathy thing crippled him was an advantage. It would keep him from moving too quickly with someone who had less sexual experience than Kirk had at thirteen.

“If you want to wait until we talk to Sovar, that’s okay,” he said, to give Spock an out.

“If we make an attempt prior to our meeting, we will be able to provide data that may prove helpful,” Spock said.

“So I just...touch you?”

“There are ritualized movements for ceremonial purposes, but yes. The sensation should prove pleasant.”

He reached out hesitantly to graze the Vulcan’s fingertips with his, a contact that had happened between them accidentally many times in the years they had known each other. The effect did turn out to be pleasant, almost shockingly so, though his own fingers were no more physically sensitive than they had been before. For the one point eight seconds… _thanks_ , Spock... that they were able to maintain contact before crashing into each other’s minds and losing track of their fingers, it had been as exhilarating as his first proper kiss, back at the Academy...had it been Gary, then?

Spock sidetracked into surprise, apparently not having realized Gary and Kirk had been lovers once, long ago. _I am sorry._ I should have known. The image of Gary, maddened, his eyes glowing electric blue, flooded both of their memories.

_Don’t be. I never told you. We hadn’t been together since the Academy. He...soured me on dating guys for a long time._

They backed out of the meld again, frustrated. Kirk flopped backwards onto the bed with just a touch of self indulgent theatrics. Even the slight contact they had managed, combined with his hopes and the memory of Gary’s kiss, had left him noticeably aroused. And embarrassed.

Spock immediately sought to reassure him. “The sight of your body delights me...I look forward to being able to explore it further.”

He was so earnest, like a character in a Jane Austen novel, that Kirk laughed, glad that their bond would make it clear his laughter was fond rather than mocking. A thought occurred to him which he quickly covered.

Not quickly enough. “I have never considered whether watching you perform sex acts on your own person would stimulate me.” He sounded slightly flustered. “I would, I think, prefer to consider the possibility some before making the attempt.”

That was...diplomatically put, though the feeling he was picking up from his partner and potential lover wasn’t disgust, necessarily, but more like nervousness. “It is time for the evening meal. Perhaps we should discuss it after we eat.”

Spock nodded. Shyly, so shyly that he actually caught his bottom lip between his teeth, Spock swept his fingers down the back of Kirk’s hand. He could tell the timing had been precisely calculated to make them dizzy with each other without collapsing them entirely, and he sent appreciation through the bond at Spock’s ingenuity.

Kirk hoped that Sovar would be able to provide some guidance. He had better be able to, because he suspected the discussion with the healer was likely to make their talk with T’Pau seem not embarrassing at all by comparison.


	14. Explorations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kshir continues to resist the Talosians, Commander Phillips meets with Spock's older sister, and Kirk and Spock get some instruction from Spock's uncle Sovar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter definitely makes it up to an M rating.

Kshir’s respite in the bare cell did not last long. She had expected upon falling asleep to awaken inside another illusion, and so was not surprised to find herself back on the savannah that looked and felt like home, but still smelled like Talosian mildew. The short Talosian, Daseh, stood beside her, Dr. Hasan or a reasonable facsimile thereof beside her. He smelled like nothing.

“You are not really here,” she told the image of Hasan.

The doctor nodded acknowledgement. “No, I’m not. I’m in the infirmary with a bunch of malnourished kids. I’d like you to meet me there in person, but neither of us,” he gestured toward Daseh, “can swing that yet.”

“I will not speak to an illusion,” she said.

“A hologram, more or less. It really is me.” Hasan turned to Daseh. “I told you this wouldn’t work.”

Kshir stood her ground, turning to the Talosian and ignoring the Hasan illusion. “I don’t believe you and you can’t prove it to me. You have lied too much for me to trust anything you say or show me. You might as well return me to my cell.”

Daseh frowned, the effect drawing its already small, close set features into an even tighter array. “I am sorry,” it said. “I will attempt to arrange a meeting in person.” She turned to the Hasan image. “We will speak to Captain Una if we can.”

Kshir was back in her cell. Daseh stood outside it. “If you will not cooperate, I cannot protect you. Please let me help you.” Daseh’s tone had broken at the end. Its focus shifted away from her, but she heard, more dimly, _No, wait, I need more time…_

Again, there was no transition from the cell to the illusion, she was simply in one place and then she was not. This place was reminiscent of the place in which she and Shou Zai had been left the first time they disobeyed a Talosian order, in the sense that it was cold and wet. She was knee deep in slightly slimy water and a light, but unrelenting spitting drizzle inexorably soaked into her fur.

She waited for whatever might be coming, since she couldn’t imagine a jaded master of illusions to be satisfied with merely subjecting her to physical discomfort. She stepped forward gingerly, aware that the ground hidden underneath the dark water could be deeper ahead of her, and was surprised when she clanked slightly. Looking down, she found she was wearing armor of a sort. Her feet were covered in boots that were polished brass where they were not coated in muck. At her waist she found a sort of metal undergarment that covered about as much as the Starfleet minis, but in an environment in which the minis would not be her first choice of outfit. She was also wearing chest armor that appeared to have been designed by a randy adolescent, her belly fur exposed to potential attack and already getting soaked by the chill rain, but her breasts covered by well shined brass cups, ornately embossed with runes that she suspected didn’t even say anything. They also appeared to magically repel the rain.

She waded through the chill mud, expecting at any moment to be beset by monsters she’d have to fight off in this ridiculous getup or worse. She closed her mind tightly against thinking of worse than monsters. Her sword clanged against the back of her armor as she walked. If this were a real swamp she’d worry about it attracting the attention of the local wildlife, but since whatever she encountered would be entirely up to the whim of whoever was controlling this illusion, the noise mattered only in its capacity to annoy her.

A lithe shadow passed in front of her, leaping from from one looped vine to another. Then two shadows. She wasn’t going to draw that stupid sword for a bunch of monkeys. She took two more steps forward and stopped. Too many of the vines were short and dangling straight down. And all the same thickness. Monkey tails. She didn’t know how many of them jumped her, though it was more than a dozen, all about the size of terran house cats, but with opposable thumbs that clung to her mane and the fine fur her costume left exposed. They dragged her down into the water.

She heard screaming. Hoarse, male screaming that started panicked and ended with intent, a primal yell that frightened the monkey-like creatures back up into the trees. She took the offered hand and a young man in a costume as inadequate as her own pulled her to her feet, then snatched his hand away and stared resolutely at a spot over her left shoulder. “I think they were setting me up to save you, ma’am.”

“Commander Kshir, First Officer, USS Yorktown.”

“Specialist Isaiah Urey, ma’am. Atmospheric chemist on the Celeste. Orders?” He held out a deep brown hand for a proper handshake and Kshir took it. Strong handshake, smelled human, stress and frustration mixed with a hint of attraction. That wasn’t unusual, humans in general indicated their sexual interest through odors they weren’t even conscious of emitting or responding to. 

“The Celeste?” Kshir prompted.

“We were surveying a particle drift in Sector 11 when we were asked to divert to try to contact the Enterprise. Apparently they’d gone off course or something. We were passing through this system when our air recyclers became contaminated.”

“So you evacuated to the surface,” Kshir surmised.

“All but a small engineering team. Once everyone was down, these aliens came and offered us shelter in exchange for helping them repair some equipment, which of course we did, because it seemed like a fair exchange at the time.”

“So how did you end up...here?” She gestured around the swamp.

“We lost contact with the team on the Celeste about twelve hours ago. The Talosians, that’s what they call themselves, told us that we’d have to stay here and help them.”

She slogged through the swamp next to him. Every few steps one of them would end up hip deep in a hole and the other would lift them out. “You’re pretty strong,” Urey told her after she pulled him out of a deep hole.

“So are you, for a human,” She replied. “These outfits. I’m pretty sure they’re setting us up for some kind of romantic interlude. Don’t get any ideas.”

He looked at her as though she had grown an extra head. “On a mission? Ewww! Besides, I’m gay.”

“I’m Caitian. I can smell attraction.”

“I like muscles and you’re pretty buff. But even if I were genuinely interested, mission. And I’m not giving those balloon headed fuckers the satisfaction. Are we going somewhere or just stomping around to keep warm?”

“Stomping around to keep warm. There isn’t really a where to go. When the ‘balloon headed fuckers’ want to change what we see, they will.”

“I wish I knew if you were real.”

“If I weren’t, I would look more like your ideal mate,” she suggested. “As for you, you smell real. I don’t know if you humans can smell well enough for it to matter, but the Talosians don’t recreate scents well. Listen, if they put you back in your cell, memorize everything you can about it. It might come in handy later. Remember the three responsibilities of a prisoner.”

Urey nodded. “Escape, sabotage, survive.”

*

Commander Georgia Phillips was tired of overheated dry air, chapped lips, and sonic showers that left her hair feeling slightly tacky with unshed powder shampoo. She waited at the beam down point just outside the entrance to the maze of caves that made up the Vulcan religious/cultural stronghold, rubbing grit off her teeth with her tongue.

The metallic ring and rain of golden glitter that heralded a transport resolved into a poised woman standing next to a pair of MPs. “Michael,” Phillips said, smiling broadly. “So good of you to come.”

“Are you behind all this?” Captain Burnham demanded, stepping forward onto the sandstone pathway. “I was stunned from behind, on the bridge of my ship, with no warning, thrown into the brig and dragged here as fast as a ship could carry me. You had better have a damn good explanation…”

“Michael,” Phillips said, chiding. “Stop whining and listen up. It’s the Talosians. Your Federation failed to burn their planet to the bedrock when they first contacted them, so now it falls to us to finish the job.”

Michael crossed her arms and looked around, taking in the orange tinged sky and the vertical wall of sandstone in front of them. “Who are the Talosians and why was I brought to Vulcan under guard like a common criminal?”

“The Talosians are powerful telepaths,” Phillips said, spitting the last word, “capable of producing illusions so perfect they are indistinguishable from reality. They’ve lured two Starfleet ships to their planet and taken the crews. The Enterprise encountered them thirteen years ago, and unfortunately they got their talons into your brother. Which makes everyone your brother is connected to a liability. Including you.” She turned and walked briskly toward an arched entry into the side of the mountain.

“Wait. Which brother?”

“Spock, of course. We haven’t been able to find your other brother yet.” Captain Burnham matched her strides, following her into the depths of Mount Seleya. 

“I’m still not following.”

Phillips ushered her into a small cell she had made over into an office and took a seat. Burnham stood stiffly in front of the desk in a posture paradoxically referred to as at ease. “You are here because the Talosians can use Spock as a sort of telepathic booster to project illusions into the minds of anyone he has a close relationship to, a sister, for example.”

“So is he here?”

“Yes, probably cuddled up with his boyfriend somewhere.”

Burnham stifled a smile. “Finally. May I see him?”

“Later. I need your assistance. Starfleet Intelligence has determined that the Talosians are an existential threat to the Federation, and as such, their planet is to be sterilized.” Phillips was taking considerable liberties with her paraphrase of Starfleet Intelligence, but their wording often lacked conviction.

“That doesn’t sound like Starfleet to me,” Burnham countered.

“Please. Sit.” Burnham took a seat.

Phillips grasped the arms of the chair in which Burnham sat and leaned over her. “Imagine. Nothing you see, hear, or feel might be real. Anything could be a Talosian lie. The Vulcans claim that the mineral formations in these caves will block any signal from the Talosians, but I have never trusted Vulcans. We will take out the Talosian threat, and if we cannot do so promptly, it will be necessary to neutralize all persons who have been near the Talosian home world, including the current crew of the Enterprise and anyone who served on her during their last contact with Talos thirteen years ago. My operatives have control of all but five such persons.”

“But what do you want from me?”

“Your familial bond requires you to be sequestered here. That is out of my hands. This operation depends on my identity as a Starfleet Intelligence operative being preserved. Every other individual here has been examined by one of the adepts. You must ensure that you are not examined. I have made Ambassador Sarek aware of his responsibility as well.”

“And if I disagree? Go over your head?”

“I am the head of this operation. If you blow my cover, you will die. And so will every living being inside this mountain. Am I clear?”

Burnham crossed her arms and blew out her breath toward the floor. “Crystal.”

*

Kirk was absolutely certain he had never been this embarrassed in his entire life. He included seventh grade health class, which was, as health classes generally were, chirpily sex positive and just explicit enough to cause the preteens ranged around the visiting nurse to long for their own deaths. It did not help that the Healer holding the diagram of Vulcan male genitalia was Spock’s _uncle_.

“In order to reverse the hormonal cascade that culminates in the _plak tow_ , the blood fever,” Healer Sovar translated for Kirk’s benefit, “the bondmates must achieve a deep mental union while these three psi points,” he pointed to spots on the diagram, two circumferential ridges near the glans and another on the underside of the base of the penis on the diagram, “are in contact with the bondmate’s body. The simplest method by which this may be accomplished is through penetrative intercourse. Fortunately, as only one of you is Vulcan, this will only need to be achieved once.”

Kirk looked over at Spock, who was blushing to the tips of his ears, whether with his own embarrassment or a reflection of Kirk’s he wasn’t certain. Sovar looked from one to the other, puzzled. “May I assume from your reactions that you have not yet engaged in a sexual expression of your union?”

“We have not,” Spock said.

“We can’t,” Kirk clarified. “We can’t even kiss. We don’t have good enough shields.” He looked from one Vulcan to the other. “Look, I’ve been this way,” he gestured at his head, “for four days.” Had it really been so short a time? “I probably just need practice.”

Sovar raised an eyebrow. “But why would you shield your minds from each other? That would make for a singularly unsatisfying experience.”

Kirk was briefly stunned to silence, considering the possibilities implied by Sovar’s statement. He swallowed. “I can’t have sex if I can’t find my arms and legs and...other parts,” Kirk blurted in frustration. The nervous energy was building, he really needed to stand up and pace. No, he needed to sit very still and keep his arms folded across his lap.

“Spock, surely you can guide the meld into _dvun-teretuhr_.”

“My training ended quite abruptly shortly after my seventh birthday. I do not recall the technique of which you speak being part of it.”

Sovar turned to him. “May I ask why?”

“My mind is unpleasant to endure because of my mixed heritage,” he said. “Further education would have been a waste of my instructor’s time.”

“Really. Your bondmate does not seem to find your touch unpleasant.” the healer said. “May I see?”

“If you wish.” Spock’s face betrayed nothing, but his anxiety and shame poured through the link. Kirk wanted to reach for his hand, but forced himself to refrain. He sat quietly studying the diagram, there being little else to do while the healer rested fingers on Spock’s face, then scooted another foot away, finding himself pulled in toward the contact and not wanting to interfere. 

After a couple of minutes, they parted and Sovar said, “There is nothing unendurable about your mind, _sa-bath_. You have a healer’s caliber gift, as do you, James, I can sense your talent from where I sit. Whether or not you chose healing as a profession, Spock, there are techniques those of us with strong gifts must learn. I demonstrated one to you just now. See that you assist your bondmate in learning it.”

“James,” the healer said. “Begin a regimen of endurance training daily. I will assess your progress tomorrow. For today, your assignment is to practice the _dvun-teretuhr_ shift. I have loaded a selection of exercises onto your data pad.”

Sovar rose and left them with a slight bow. Kirk decided the healer was more tolerable than most Vulcans he had met, even if he had required the two of them to examine medical diagrams of each other’s genitals. He had kind of been looking forward to being surprised.

“Jim,” Spock said, startling him out of his thoughts. “May I demonstrate the relevant technique?”

Kirk crossed to the bed and reclined on it. “Be my guest,” he said, his broad smile creasing his eyes.

Spock raised an eyebrow, but arranged himself carefully on the bed beside Kirk and lowered his shields so that the two of them flowed easily together. Dropping into rapport was becoming easier the more they practiced, and Kirk had grown more than comfortable with floating in a roughed out watercolor landscape with Spock. _The shift in focus we must practice is similar to that which must occur to achieve a stable meld, but is...orthogonal to it, in a sense._

Kirk indicated understanding. Spock drifted downward, which usually meant drawing closer to each other. They paused at a sort of surface, a resistance. _To pass through here is to enter deeper union._ Kirk noted that they had passed that way before, both by accident when sleeping and on purpose. _You are correct_ , Spock agreed.

They skirted the edge of that boundary, not pressing through it. Here, Spock indicated, and became very still. The regions of their shared environment that corresponded to his and Spock’s minds overlapped here. _Find your breath, but focus downward, not upward. Not out, but through._

Spock accomplished the shift first as a demonstration. Kirk tried to do the same, to attend to the breath, but not too hard, as though to force the issue would cause him to lose focus entirely. There, he could feel his own chest moving with his breath, then one arm raised, the palm cradling his head, then his arms folded neatly across his chest. _Oh, beautiful!_ He could feel Spock’s body almost as though it were his own. His heart beat slow and loud against his ribcage, and in a flutter that was almost vibration in his side. They breathed in unison. Sounds were louder and also pitched a little differently when he listened through Spock’s ears, and put together with his own hearing everything sounded duplicated.

Spock raised two fingers. Kirk’s brain couldn’t figure out which arm to move at first, but after a couple of tries he raised his left arm and swung it wildly, connecting with Spock’s raised wrist. He slowed himself down, thought through the movement, and moved his hand down to brush across Spock’s. The near electric shock of pleasure startled him out of body completely. Spock’s fingers were as sensitive as his own lips, or the spot on his flank just below his armpit, or the crease of his buttocks. Maybe even that place on the inside of his thigh...

_I will endeavor to keep those locations in mind_ , Spock said wryly.

_Can we try again?_ Kirk asked.

Spock smiled inside his head. It took less time to arrange their mutual mental state this time, and they managed to press their fingertips together and drop their arms to rest between their reclining bodies. Spock traced circles on Kirk’s palm, then Kirk laced their fingers together lightly and stroked from fingertips to wrist. He had not expected playing with each other’s hands would be so engrossing. _I don’t think we should try human kissing yet. We’re liable to knock out each other’s teeth._

Kirk turned on his side to face Spock, one limb at a time. Spock followed, a little more smoothly. He was a quicker study than Kirk was, as might be expected. Spock clasped his hand and drew it up between them, then traced each of his fingers slowly, almost curiously. Kirk watched Spock’s face, the eyes half closed, the ghost of a smile on his lips, an expression he would never let anyone else see. Kirk took a turn, closing his eyes to better feel the feedback from Spock and adjust his movements to be pleasant without being too ticklish. He could feel both his own and Spock’s arousal building, his own cock rising to the occasion, pressed up against Spock’s thigh. They would have to take care not to overdo it before Spock was ready, he thought. Spock dismissed his worry. There would be time.

The door chimed, of course. Kirk tried to roll off the bed and landed less than gracefully on the stone floor. _Wait_. Spock drew him back for a moment to help him return fully to his own body with a quick shift of attention. 

_Thanks, I almost forgot_. Their make out session had left him visibly aroused, and his uniform pants were not making it easy to hide that fact. He opened the door just enough to poke his head around. “Sarek. Are we needed?”

“We are ready to discuss the rescue plan. Are you available?”

“Of course. Just a moment.”

He closed the door and began hunting for his shoes. “Spock, that was Sarek. They’d like to discuss the rescue plan with us.”

Spock, of course, rolled out of the bed looking impeccable. Kirk was still blushing, rumpled, and having a stern conversation with his stubborn erection. Once he had gotten himself presentable, the two of them left together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I have embarrassed everyone sufficiently. That was my first attempt at anything even remotely resembling smut.
> 
> Also, the novel is now complete, so as promised, I'm moving to a twice a week, Tuesday and Friday posting schedule.


	15. Contingencies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans for the rescue of Starfleet personnel from Talos proceed, while the captives continue to resist the Talosians and their illusions.

For a monastery in a cave, Gol certainly had a well appointed biochemistry laboratory. Leonard McCoy had been assigned a couple of Vulcan assistants, including Healer Sovar and a younger female acolyte who was a pharmaceutical chemist. He had put T’Leir to work with Ensign Sosa, an atmospheric chemist, while he and Sovar puzzled out the effect they wanted to have on the Talosian population. The goal was to produce a gas that would incapacitate the Talosians as safely as possible while leaving the mostly human crews of the Yorktown and Celeste functional.

“So, Doctor,” the Healer was saying, “The problem we face is that the telepathic function is integral to sapience, even among supposedly psi-null species such as humans. Because of that, even anaesthetic gases that reliably produce unconsciousness may not reliably inhibit telepathy, especially in a species with such advanced abilities as the Talosians.”

“So, they might go to sleep and just start randomly projecting their dreams?”

“That is one possibility, yes. Another is that we block their telepathic connections and cause immediate death...or homicidal rage.”

“None of those are results I’d prefer.” McCoy stopped to make notes on the next couple of compounds on the list of possibilities. Unfortunately, since there was no biometric data to work with, only some descriptions of the physical appearance of the beings from Spock, there wasn’t a whole lot they could do to narrow down the list of agents that would have to be brought along and tested when they were able to access an actual Talosian.

“I’m not exactly looking forward to testing this stuff on an intelligent being,” he noted. “I mean, I know we’re in dire circumstances, but experimenting on an intelligent being? I wish I could see an alternative.”

“It is logical to seek to preserve life and to avoid inflicting pain,” Sovar allowed. “However, while Spock and your Captain will have some protection from the Talosians due to the hormonal state they will endure when they arrive, it will be necessary to incapacitate as many of them as possible, while leaving the faculties of the majority of the Starfleet prisoners intact.”

“And shutting off their telepathy should incapacitate them.”

“If the descriptions we have been given are accurate, yes. They are described as having lost the ability to operate their own technology, and as being as physically weak as children. They are an enemy with a single formidable weapon. We neutralize that weapon, we render them helpless.”

Sovar made a couple of additional notes. “You will be producing the final formula on your own, while under the influence of a drug cocktail that will make you extremely irritable. Do you think you can handle working under those conditions?”

McCoy smiled grimly. “I know I can because I have. I’ve created cures to diseases that cause murderous rage on the way to death, under the time pressure of having contracted the disease myself. It’s not my favorite way to work, but I can do it.”

“There is another concern of note.”

“Yes?”

Sovar might have sighed. “You are aware that Starfleet plans to destroy Talos IV utterly as soon as its automated mass driver is in place and operational.”

“I am. I can’t say I’m happy about it. I keep running alternate scenarios through my mind, and it always comes down to the crews of the Yorktown and the Celeste…”

“And Spock,” Sovar added pointedly.

 

“And Spock,” McCoy allowed. “It’s between them and the Talosians. We can’t trust any treaty we might make with them, and the only way to isolate them is to interdict the better part of a sector, rescue all of our people so they can’t help the Talosians get their technology back on line, and then either murder or permanently imprison every single person we rescue.”

“It is indeed a logical and ethical conundrum.”

“It’s a hot mess, is what it is. All I can do is hope that once we get boots on the ground a better solution will present itself.” He turned the screen toward Sovar, changing the subject. “What about combining these three substances?”

*

Kirk and Spock stood in the briefing room, Spock standing quietly with his hands laced behind his back, Kirk shifting from one foot to the other in lieu of pacing, while Admiral Enwright prowled the room enough for both of them. “For security reasons, you are not being made privy to the details of the mission until you arrive at Talos,” Admiral Enwright said. “As soon as we are out from under this mountain, Spock becomes a walking security breach and from what I hear, you and he are so close now you might as well be him.” He ended his sentence with a touch of derision that made Kirk want to punch him in the mouth.

“That is not precisely accurate,” Spock said. “At need, T’Pau could brief the captain on our mission and then sequester the information until it was pertinent.”

Enwright’s tiny head shake made it clear that he wasn’t interested in giving Kirk more information than he absolutely had to. “I will take that under advisement. At present, all you need to know is that you, Spock, will be placed in biostasis for the trip out to Talos, which will be accomplished on remote. Captain Michael Burnham will be in command. Dr. McCoy and Mr. Scott will accompany the two of you.”

“Why Captain Burnham?” Spock asked.

“Montgomery Scott lacks sufficient command experience for an operation of this nature. Captain Burnham’s relationship to you makes her,” Enwright sighed visibly, “expendable.”

“I don’t want Scotty endangering himself. It’s bad enough Dr. McCoy has to be there,” Kirk protested.

“Commander Scott has volunteered, and you’re going to need someone on the ship while the two of you are down on the planet. Doctor McCoy can’t operate a transporter.” Enwright stopped his pacing in front of Kirk. “Lieutenant Uhura wants to supervise the deployment of the psionic damper satellites herself, and T’Pring wishes to assist her and Scott.”

Kirk protested, “I would like to see as few people exposed to this level of risk as possible.”

Enwright frowned. “It’s not up to you. For the duration of this mission, you and Spock are mission specialists. You’re the only two people who can do this pon farr thing, whatever the hell it is, voluntarily go crazy for a few hours or days to get past the Talosians’ illusions and rescue the crews of our ships. You’re not going to be in any condition to make command decisions. Final decision on crew complement will be Captain Burnham’s.”

“I can still make command decisions now,” Kirk protested.

“I’m afraid I doubt that, at this point.” Kirk didn’t know whether Enwright’s lack of confidence in his ability to command had to do with whatever he perceived Kirk’s relationship with Spock to be, or with his newly emergent telepathic abilities. Neither boded well for his chances to regain the Enterprise after this mess with Talos was resolved, and the sanctimonious contempt pouring off the Admiral made Kirk sick to his stomach. He really wanted to punch Enwright in the mouth. Spock stepped a little closer behind him, not quite touching, but projecting a gentle warning not to alienate the one person who could cancel the mission entirely, leaving Pike and two full ships’ crews to their fates.

“Like I said, it’s not up to you. You are expected to limit contact with other members of the mission team in order to deny the Talosians access to our plans. Dismissed, Captain.”

Kirk snapped his mouth shut on a comeback, turned on his heel and stalked out of the briefing room, followed by Spock.

*

Una expected the farm, the equipment, the horses, and her crew to disappear any moment the way the false Porter had, but to her surprise, nothing happened. She and Pike still stood in the late afternoon sunlight, surrounded by farm equipment and the five remaining Starfleet crew members.

Una spoke quickly. “Three priorities. Escape. Sabotage. Survive. Even here, we are powerful.”

The five people standing arm in arm near her and Commodore Pike nodded. “This is Commodore Christopher Pike. He and I have been here before. We both know that we can beat these Talosians if we keep our heads and wait for opportunities. Right, so first. Names. I know Ensign Yaa, Crewman Sadari, and Ensign Silva. You two are…”

“Lieutenant Margaret Wilhelm, warp physics,” a slight blonde woman said.

The taller, darker complected person beside her said, “Specialist Kell Temmis, stellar cartography. We’re both from the USS Celeste.”

“Celeste?” Una asked. “How long have you been here?”

Kell answered, “Over a week. I wish I could be more specific.”

Una nodded. “Understood. You should know that cultivating strong, negative emotions such as anger has proven to interfere with the Talosians ability to project illusions. Pass that information on. I estimate that Yorktown has been here roughly twelve days, as I believe I remained in orbit on a shuttlecraft for ten, but our perception of time is as suspect as everything else around here. Remember, we cannot keep secrets from these aliens, so we’ll always be behind in that regard. To reduce that deficit, every time you meet another person, pass all of the information you have gathered first. Tell them who else you have seen and if you’ve gotten any information about the real facility in which we’re being kept.”

Pike spoke for the first time. “We know that advanced technology is available here and that eventually we will have access to it. Rescue may not be coming, but these aliens are convinced of their own superiority. We can use that.”

“Make them regret every mistake they make. Make keeping us as difficult as possible,” Una elaborated.

Ensign Yaa opened her mouth to speak, but before Una heard a word she was whisked away again, first to the blankness of complete sensory deprivation, then, in less than a minute, back to her cell. She immediately sat down on the foam bed surface and repeated the names of the people she had met aloud, five times. She consumed the blue liquid and white cubes she was provided, then walked the perimeter of her cell, memorizing the orientation of the walls, the position of the furnishings, and finally a few telltale markings on the stone, so she if she were to be taken from her cell, literally or only via illusion, she would be able to determine whether she was returned to the same one.

She sat back down. She was well aware that any or all of these attempts at gaining control could be thwarted at any moment. Porter might not have been the only illusory crewmate. She could be inhabiting an illusion even now, one that looked just like the cell she remembered from over a decade ago. But it was likely that the Talosians were in fact, addicted to their illusions and had grown complacent and lazy, and if that was the case, she could expect them to make mistakes, probably more and more of them over time.

She just had to be ready.

*

Daseh finished cleaning the cells in xer assigned block. Xe walked back along the corridor to where the Caitian, Kshir, had been placed with a larger, darker human male. There was a little more room in this particular enclosure, to make it easier for the two to act out whatever they were seeing. They sat near each other on the cell floor, talking quietly.

Daseh sampled the content of Kshir’s mind to see which elders controlled them. Elder Urlon appeared to be maintaining their environment, a sort of rustic hut, with a fire in a pit along one wall and layers of animal pelts on the floor. The male, Urey, he called himself, was frustrated by the fire’s lack of smoke. Elder Urlon had apparently lost interest in the pair and was discussing some esoteric and dull matter with other elders.

Daseh quietly took xer place. Xe kept her gown and face, well aware that Talosians probably all looked the same to humans. Xe insinuated xemself into the illusion outside the door, having learned that Kshir found xer sudden appearances and disappearances jarring. Once inside the illusion, xe could behave as though the objects and people around her were actually there; it was a skill one learned early, to build places cobbled together out of the memory tapes in which to exist, to break up the monotony of living underground. Xe was an excellent builder of dreams, which was probably why xer disruptive ideas and behavior were tolerated.

It was a fine line, to be interesting without being dangerous. Xe knocked on the flimsy wooden door. “It is Daseh. May I enter?”

“You might as well,” Kshir said from within.

Daseh tucked xer robe about xer and crouched to enter through the low doorway. Kshir and Urey sat as close to the fire as was practical. Neither had any clothing, and xe could feel their embarrassed consternation at that fact. Daseh sat awkwardly on the pile of pelts, xer legs sticking straight out in front of xem. “Please. Picture what you would prefer to be wearing.”

“We don’t need any favors.”

“I am off duty at present,” Daseh said. Impulsively, xe threw up a privacy screen around xemself and the two captives. If it were noticed, xe might be punished by the elders, but xe was accustomed to punishment. “If we are cautious, we may speak freely.”

“Why would we want to talk to you?” The one called Urey said.

“Because Kshir is smart and strong, and you are determined and...and you find it difficult to hate.”

Kshir turned to xem. “Hold out your hand.”

Daseh obeyed, curious. Kshir turned around, holding a pelt across her body, and sniffed Dase’s palm. “You’re actually here!” She brought up one arm, claws out, threatening, but paused before striking xem. “I’ve smelled you before.”

“I am responsible for cleaning your cells,” Dase said. “You are preoccupied without clothing. Allow me to remedy this.”

Kshir nodded, closing her eyes briefly, apparently to visualize her uniform more clearly. Daseh adjusted the illusion to include its presence on her body, then repeated the process with Urey. On a whim, she produced similar clothing for herself.

“Don’t,” Kshir said, snarling. Daseh shrunk from her sudden anger, almost losing focus. “You have no right to wear that uniform.”

Daseh allowed her robed appearance to reappear. “Your clothing is earned?” That must be why it was so distressing to them when it was taken.

“For powerful telepaths, you sure don’t know much.”

“We can see only the surface of memory, not its implications. If you do not dwell upon the purpose of your uniform, we will not be aware of it.” Xe was aware that xe was offering information that could be used against xem, but she had begun to trust these humans, Kshir, Hasan, even Una more than the elders of her own kind.

“Why are we here, really?” Kshir asked.

“The elders determined that we did not wish to pay for our ancestors’ sloth with death. They also believe that they are the only true people, that you are intelligent animals, to be trained to do work and provide entertainment.”

“And what do you think?”

“It does not matter what I think. I am only thirteen cycles old. My opinion will not be relevant until I am at least thirty.” Xe thought about the matter a while longer. “But if our machines are not fixed, I will not live to see twenty.”

“We will never cooperate.”

Daseh felt a stirring at the edge of the illusion. “Urlon’s attention returns here. I must go.” Xe extricated xemself from the illusion. “Make it a little interesting for him and he will not care that I was here.”

Urlon was fifty-four. Xer interests had moved long ago from politics to assuaging xer boredom in the memory library. Even the council elders, for all they pretended at respect for those of such advanced age and stature, spoke of such persons with contempt. If Daseh were found to have interfered with Urlon’s entertainment, xe would be punished, but xer peers would be amused for many days in the retelling.

Xe tried not to think of what might happen to Kshir.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so everyone has a heads up, the next chapter is all Kirk and Spock and there's a lot of smut in there. And it's the first real smut I've ever written. You have been warned.
> 
> Next installment out Friday.


	16. Mirror Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirk and Spock are finally able to consummate their bond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is the smutty chapter. The first smutty chapter, anyway. My first smutty chapter. Ever. So we'll see how it goes. Don't say I didn't warn you. Scroll to the end for a smutless summary of critical plot points.

Kirk stood on the slightly spongy surface of the training mats, feet shoulder width apart for balance, hands resting at his sides. Spock faced him in the same pose. They had already entered into light rapport, a process that Kirk had started to refer to as drop-and-shift in his own mental shorthand, since his Vulcan language skills were improving, but he was still far from fluent.

Spock led first. It was Kirk’s job to mirror each movement as he perceived it. Spock’s right arm tensed, beginning to move. Kirk allowed the sensation of movement to flow into his own arm, the left, not the right, so that they mirrored each other. So far so good. He worried that when they got to moving feet, he would fall. Spock moved the other arm and Kirk followed, so that they were now standing with their hands raised to shoulder height, palms facing each other. Spock brought both hands forward to grasp Kirk’s, causing him to suck in a breath.

Control, Spock reminded gently. They stood still for a moment, breathing through the contact, holding their hands absolutely still. Kirk glanced down at his foot and took the lead, stepping backwards slightly and planting his foot, but when Spock copied the movement a moment later, the feedback confused Kirk and he stumbled, almost falling. Spock caught him with an arm around his lower back.

 _At this rate, we might manage a box step in a week,_ Kirk complained. He was tired of his body’s continuous betrayals, both while trying to coordinate his movements with Spock and when moving around on his own. The floor was still never where it was supposed to be. Just this morning, before they met in the gym to practice this “mirror dancing” technique, he had gone for a prescribed three mile run and managed to overcorrect and fling himself into a wall while trying not to run into Uhura and T’Pring. Bones caught him walking back, saw his bloody, torn shirt and ran a dermal regenerator over the scrapes.

It had been a painful excuse for a chance to talk to the doctor, if only briefly. Kirk carefully avoided asking about Bones’ work, and Bones carefully recited nursery rhymes in his head the whole time, but it was still good to know Bones was still around and in their corner. Spock allowed him his brief distraction. _Are you ready to continue?_

Kirk assented and let Spock lead. This time, he caught and followed the movement and didn’t fall. Spock took a cue from Kirk’s earlier complaint and tried a slow box step, which, as long as Kirk thought about absolutely nothing else, he found he could follow. They were, after a fashion, dancing. Their small success made Kirk bold. He brought his left hand, still clasping Spock’s right, down to his waist and placed Spock’s hand there, then moved his left hand back up to Spock’s shoulder, sending the suggestion that Spock not mirror that particular movement. He had to stop the box step to move their hands, but allowed Spock to lead again once he was done.

His frustration with his own performance gradually dissipated, in part because they were managing a passable box step now, and in part because he was dancing. With Spock. He was entirely consumed with the sound of their bare feet moving across the padded flooring, the smell of Spock’s favorite incense permeating his clothes, the touch of his hands at his waist and clasping his hand, the way their thoughts flowed together, even if neither was thinking anything in particular other than _Don’t fall, don’t fall._

He opened his hand to press his palm flat against Spock’s, still maintaining the rhythm of the box step, then, boldly, slid his fingers slowly, and once the sensation hit him, lasciviously from palm to fingertips.

When they hit the floor, Kirk laughed enough for both of them.

*

The half hour of mandated practice in the gym completed, Kirk and Spock returned to their room to eat lunch and work a little more on their end of the rescue plan.

Spock, who was neither trying to exercise his body into greater endurance, nor accustoming his brain to roughly twice as much input as it had developed to process, ate about half as many calories a day as Kirk. With the added exercise and very frequent melds, Kirk was easily taking in five thousand calories a day just to break even. Spock watched him while he ate, making Kirk more self-conscious than he ought to be about his table manners. He quashed a nebulous daydream featuring steak and dove his fork into the large bowl of orangey gold mashed root vegetable that had become his favorite source of calories in quantity.

“As you will be able to remain conscious during the journey to Talos IV, you will have access to long range scans of the planet. While these will not be sufficiently detailed to show us where the captives are being held, it may be possible to locate concentrations of life forms that we may be able to use to select the most effective beam down point.”

Kirk nodded and scooped another mouthful. _Now, assuming that McCoy’s cocktail works and the Talosians are left trying to overpower us physically_ … He had decided that communicating mentally was a perfect way around talking with his mouth full.

“The Talosians will most likely be completely incapacitated. The loss of their primary sense and their connection to each other...it would be as if you simultaneously went blind and everyone you cared about died in front of you in the same moment.”

Kirk set down his spoon. He hadn’t thought about the possibility that the psi suppressant would interfere with his bond with Spock. “We’re going to need gas masks.”

“Indeed. Please relay that information to the doctor.”

By the time Kirk finished his lunch, they had several pages of notes to compile and organize. He knew that the bulk of the tactical planning would be his, since Spock was going to be in biostasis from the moment they left the caves until shortly before they were to beam down. They had two weeks left to plan, train, and get their bond working smoothly before Spock would begin hormone shots and the two of them would no longer be allowed alone together. Shortly after, Spock would be placed in biostasis, completely out of reach…”Spock, if you’re in biostasis and I’m not, what happens to the bond? What can I expect to experience from my end?”

“I do not know for certain. I will consult Healer Sovar.” Spock paused to tap another note into his data pad. “We have put in considerable effort this morning. Perhaps you should rest for a time.”

“I don’t know if resting was exactly what I had in mind,” Kirk said, allowing himself to flirt. He had thought that the bond itself would make their changed relationship less awkward, since he’d always be able to gauge Spock’s responses, but the telepathic conduit between them only told him, in general terms, what Spock was feeling right then. It didn’t tell him in advance how Spock would respond to his actions.

Kirk caught a flash of nervous tension, almost what he might have called fear, through the bond before Spock deliberately pushed the illogical emotion away, replacing it with a studied calm. Uncertain, Kirk backed away both physically, and to an extent, mentally, not wanting to pressure his friend and knowing that his emotional intensity could do just that, whether he wanted it to or not.

Spock looked at the floor, then back up at Kirk. “Do not be concerned that I am uninterested. I am just...attempting to master my cultural hang ups, as you might say.” 

“Like I’m trying to master my emotional intensity.”

“Precisely. May I suggest that we meditate together for a time, in order to assist you in settling your thoughts?”

How long a time? The obnoxious, hyperactive child in him demanded. He crossed to the meditation mat and tried to arrange himself on it in the pose he had seen Spock assuming when he meditated.

Spock sat across from him, leaving enough space between them that they might drift into light rapport without having to guard against falling into deeper contact. “Sit however you are most comfortable. The pose I choose is influenced by my biomechanics, which differ slightly from yours.”

Kirk moved so that he was seated cross legged, rather than kneeling. Feel your breath, he told himself. He had actively hated sitting meditation as a child and had given up the practice once he was no longer subjected to it in his grade school gym and health classes. He had tried again, on the advice of the therapist after...stop. He did not want to go there now. Back to the breath, he told himself, and was rewarded with a brush of approval from Spock, who was apparently monitoring his progress. Kirk narrowed their connection slightly, to encourage Spock to attend to his own needs. After about twenty minutes of allowing his mind to drift where it wished and finding that it wished to drift in frustrating circles, he fell asleep.

*

He was lying down. When had he gone to lie down?

Spock sat at their table, working at his data pad, a sheaf of hardcopy resting next to his left hand. “When you have fallen asleep sitting up in the past, you have awakened with neck pain.”

“Were you able to get in the meditation you need?” Kirk asked.

“I was. It is now mid afternoon, local time.” He put down his data pad and sat beside Kirk on the edge of the bed, offering his hand for a kiss. Kirk dove into the offered fireplace glow, closing his eyes for a moment to help ground their rapport, and in a moment of sensual inspiration, took the first two fingers of Spock’s hand into his mouth.

He was pretty sure that his brain just exploded out of the back of his head. Spock responded with a burst of surprised pleasure so sudden Kirk almost bit him in shock. Instead, he dragged his top teeth lightly down Spock’s fingers, ending with a tiny practiced nip at one fingertip, then brought his own hand up to meet Spock’s.

Spock turned to face Kirk, still sitting. He heard his lover’s--was he entitled to that term yet?--shoes hit the floor, and noted that Spock did not get up to put them away properly. They pressed their hands together, palm to palm, and Kirk allowed Spock to explore the sensations he could produce just by stroking his hand. Kirk’s own fingers were less sensitive, but the feedback from Spock’s was more than enough to keep him interested. It was as though the number of erogenous zones on his body had suddenly doubled, and a part of him wanted to try out each one, to savor the subtle differences in sensation even in those places he assumed they had in common. Another part of him signaled a desire for attention more urgently. It had been a while, and he’d studiously avoided relieving that tension on his own since it became clear his relationship with Spock was going in that direction. It felt like cheating, and on a more practical level, he didn’t want to overwhelm the bond with physical stimuli at a time that might be inconvenient for Spock.

 _We could attempt more intimate contact,_ Spock suggested with cautious eagerness. _As my hands are more sensitive than yours, and I am better able to coordinate my movements…_ he presented a wordless image for Kirk’s approval.

That would definitely move the relationship in the right direction, Kirk thought, but he concentrated on a more accurate image, rather than the diagram from their sex ed lesson. He realized he had just sent a mental dick pic and laughed aloud. He extricated his hand from Spock’s, stood, and went in search of an energy drink and a cloth, their mental connection stretching and thinning with distance, his vicarious experience of Spock’s body becoming a bit more faint, almost ghostly. Spock, for his part, sat absolutely still, the better to keep Kirk from having to process two bodies worth of movement at once.

He sat down next to Spock on the bed after completing his errand. “You sure you’re ready for this?”

Spock turned to face him. “If we were granted an abundance of time, I might wish to delay. I am finding it difficult to balance my need to know that I am in control of my responses with our need to express our relationship physically. I am also, however, well aware of the tension you are experiencing.”

Kirk squeezed Spock’s arm just above the elbow, a deliberately platonic gesture intended to remind him that sex was neither the only, nor the most important part of his regard. “Spock, I haven’t had a partner in a long time. I can wait a little longer.”

“The crews of the Yorktown and Celeste cannot wait. I wish to do this,” Spock said. “Will you remove your clothing?”

“All of it?” Kirk asked, smiling.

“I believe I would be gratified by viewing you in your entirety, yes.”

Given that Spock had never seen him naked in quite this context before, Kirk decided that undressing slowly was in order. Funny, it was hard to think about how he might please Spock. The man put on a show of emotionlessness and actively did not like losing control of himself, but part of the fun of sex was losing control, at least a little. At least in Kirk’s opinion. It was a fine line to walk.

“You concern yourself too much with my comfort, Jim,” Spock said. “I am not so fragile.”

Kirk pulled off his uniform shirt. As soon as the air hit his chest and back he resolved not to put human designed clothing back on until they left this sweltering planet. He turned back toward Spock, sensing his appreciation through the bond. It was different from his own experience, and made him curious. Spock allowed him access to his impressions and Kirk studied them with the intensity he usually reserved for examining microexpressions during a diplomatic crisis. The predominant feeling was a functional appreciation, that Kirk put time and effort into conditioning his body to peak effectiveness, to ensure that his arms were strong enough to fight hand to hand, to carry a wounded crewmate to safety, or to climb rugged terrain. Layered onto that was an aesthetic appreciation of the curves and angles of his frame, the gradations of color brought out by the lamplight playing off his musculature. Kirk knew he was good looking. He found the fact both useful at times and frequently inconvenient, as it had led to a reputation he didn’t quite deserve.

The last, the piece most like what he would have described as attraction, a desire to touch and know, was less prominent than the others. He had the impression that it was new to Spock, that he had not noticed such inclinations in himself before and that he was uncertain of them, perhaps even a little frightened of the loss of control they might herald. _You wouldn’t have to lose control, at least most of the time,_ Kirk assured him. He knew there were sexual practices even among humans that were built around self control and careful introspection, practices that were almost meditative. He’d never looked into them himself, but perhaps together they could.

 _That sounds most gratifying,_ Spock agreed. _Were you not intending to remove your pants as well?_

Kirk wished he had regained enough confidence in his sense of balance to take his pants off standing up, but that would have to be a strip tease for another day. He kicked off his shoes. One of them flipped impressively into the air and landed on the table, right on top of Spock’s data pad. Have to check and make sure it wasn’t broken. Later. He grinned at Spock, who grinned back Spock style, meaning a barely visible upward quirk of the lips and a wash of amusement through the bond. 

He hooked his thumbs into his waistband at the small of his back and drew them around his sides slowly, allowing the sensation to pass without restriction between them, then slid his pants down just until he was no longer sitting on them. He then leaned forward and drew them off one leg at a time, Spock reaching over to catch him under the arm as he nearly overbalanced. _Got to take those vestibular therapy exercises more seriously,_ he thought, and was met with agreement along with the hand on his tricep sliding slowly up to graze his underarm and trace its way down his side. He hissed his appreciation through his teeth.

 _You are still overdressed for the occasion,_ Spock chided, wrapping his other arm around Kirk from behind, his hand hovering over the tent in Kirk’s Starfleet issue gray underwear. Kirk’s heart raced, partly from his own arousal and partly from the nervousness that he attributed to Spock’s inexperience, but which most likely belonged to both of them. He found himself dizzy with overstimulation. Spock backed up for a moment to pull off his own shirt, then hugged him tightly from behind, not moving, just breathing slow, measured breaths by his ear, calming them both. They rested without moving for a minute or so while they regained their equilibrium. 

_Shall we lie down?_ Spock asked.

Kirk nudged his body backward into Spock’s by way of assent, and they lay back on the bed, Spock spooning Kirk, skin to skin from neck to waist, where the waistband of Kirk’s underwear met the top of Spock’s pants. He and Spock were already, in a very real sense, inside each other, their mental rapport manifesting as a sort of cocoon of russet and tangerine and gold, within which all sounds except for the ones they made or imagined were muted. Spock must have more control than he did, he thought. He would have expected to feel Spock’s cock poking into his back, right about at the top of his buttocks.

 _My anatomy is slightly different from yours,_ Spock reminded him.

 _May I see?_ If you show me yours, I’ll show you mine, came to mind unbidden and he was rewarded with another ripple of amusement in its wake. Spock agreed after a moment’s hesitation, not least because lying this way, clasped tightly together was so _comfortable._ Spock quickly and efficiently removed his pants and underwear, folded them neatly, and set them on the chair, clearly stalling just to tease him.

He then lay, propped on one elbow, next to Kirk, who had rolled onto his back. _Let me help you with those._ He reached around Kirk’s waist and efficiently divested him of his underwear, which he also folded. 

Kirk’s cock twitched appreciatively at being granted its freedom. _Who folds underwear?_ he thought.

 _I do._ He lay back down on his side, head propped on one hand, legs spread so that Kirk could explore if he wished.

Kirk drew his hand down Spock’s chest first. He hadn’t really touched anything but Spock’s hands yet, after all, and there were so many places to explore. He brushed a nipple, which rewarded him with reflected sensation that wasn’t quite what he expected, more comforting than overtly sexual. Curious.

Spock reached up to brush a thumb across Kirk’s nipples and shared his surprise at the intensity and tenor of Kirk’s response. He repeated the experiment a few more times, first with one hand and then with both, one stroking each side. Kirk leaned forward to rest his head on Spock’s chest with a soft groan. He was feeling every day of his long dry spell by this point. The heat in his groin demanded attention, soon. He moved his hand lower down the smooth skin of Spock’s abdomen and dared to look. For a moment, he was confused, then, remembering the shape of the sheath in the diagram, the sensitive locations marked on it, he hesitantly pressed one, then two fingers to the top of what he might as well call labia and slid them down and in. He had to stop for a second, hold perfectly still, lest he come untouched. The sensation of pleasure arising from a body part he had no precise cognate for was both strange and intoxicating.

 _A moment,_ Spock’s own excitement colored the thought, a combination of intense arousal and scientific curiosity. He felt movement, pressure in the back of his mind, and the sharpness of his need was muted, just slightly.

_What did you do?_

_An experiment. Please proceed._

Kirk drew his fingers down and in further. The space between the folds was soft, slick, almost… _Oh, hello, there you are!_ Spock’s cock popped up as Kirk’s fingers slid under it, and it slipped out of its warm housing, slightly shorter and wider than his own, decorated with stacked ridges dividing the glans from the shaft and a deep furrow running down the back.

 _And now, you._ Spock pressed on Kirk’s chest until he rolled onto his back, then reached down and rested his hand lightly on the delicate skin of Kirk’s scrotum, his middle finger almost teasing his hole. _External testicles. A very fragile arrangement, I would think._ He stroked upward across said fragile testicles and Kirk arched his back into the touch involuntarily. Again, there was that calibrated pressure at the back of his mind, giving him the capacity to endure more pleasure without leaping to his release, and Spock’s fingers stroked delicately up the shaft. At that moment, his last working brain cells surrendered, between the shared sensation of sensitive fingers contacting velvety, warm skin and the feel of those same fingers on the sensitized skin of his cock. Spock got in three more strokes, each one feather light, when he finally reached the point of no return. Kirk projected an urgent image of pressure and motion needed, _now, please!_ and Spock obligingly and quickly pressed his free hand down and in over the bottom of his shaft in a deep, circling massage and, startlingly, leaned in to enclose Kirk’s glans between his lips and suck, just as Kirk ejaculated.

He was unable to form a coherent thought for nearly a minute. They basked in his afterglow until Kirk thought to ask, _What gave you that idea, at the end?_

 _Your mind wanders frequently in these directions._

_Are you…_ Kirk rolled over to see Spock’s cock, still standing at attention.

Affirmation. _I isolated my own body from our first orgasm, that we might compare our bodies’ capabilities._

 _Well, aren’t we clever?_ The sharp urgency of his own need abated, he had the luxury of time. _Want to try human kissing?_

Spock responded with curiosity, slightly tinged with not disgust, but perhaps worry that he would be disgusted. _You seem to enjoy it._

_We’ll start easy._ This felt absurdly backwards. Not wrong exactly, but incongruous enough to be funny. They were lying in bed, both naked, and he was trying to convince his lover--yes, he could definitely justify the term now--to kiss him. He turned toward Spock, lining up their faces, and leaned in.

 _Ow!_ He misjudged the distance and bumped their noses together, just hard enough to ache. One more try...there. He pressed his lips gently, chastely to Spock’s, mouth open just enough to breathe his breaths. It was Spock’s turn to express surprise at the sensitivity of Kirk’s lips. Kirk took first Spock’s bottom lip, then his top lip in between his own, gently caressing with just lips on lips, not wanting to startle him by getting his tongue involved to soon. He tried a little lick of Spock’s bottom lip and was rewarded with a gasp.

His smug acknowledgement that he was, after all, a really good kisser was met with acknowledgement of both his skill and his arrogance. Emboldened, he licked into Spock’s mouth, pressing his face closer and nudging his mouth open to give him access to stroke the sensitive tissue within with his tongue. He could feel Spock’s enjoyment directly, but couldn’t help asking, _This is good, right?_

_Very._

He deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue farther in to tease the roof of Spock’s mouth. There was a sudden sense of dissolution, physical sensations fading in favor of mental impressions, undeniably pleasant, but again with that sweet, almost homely cast. He had to hold perfectly still again while they shifted their focus back down into their bodies. _What was that?_

 _I believe you found a psi point. If I recall, there exists one at the junction of the soft and hard palate, which facilitates the transfer of emotions and impressions between a mother and nursing infant._ Kirk pressed back into the kiss again, and Spock was, fortunately, distracted from his lecture.

Unfortunately, Kirk was not yet comfortable enough with the shared body thing to multitask, so he broke off the kiss in order to move lower down. They would spend time, considerable time, learning each and every one of each other’s bodies’ secrets, but for the moment he concentrated on a select few. He found a sensitive spot while trailing his fingers down the inside of Spock’s arm and applied his lips to the spot at the inside of his elbow, drawing circles with his tongue while teasing his way down Spock’s abdomen with his hand. The movement was less graceful that he’d have liked, but it was having the desired effect, wrapping their bodies in a diffuse pleasure while his fingers noted the tensing of muscles below Spock’s navel.

He backed away for a moment to admire his next target. Slightly shorter and more wedge shaped than his own, tinged green rather than pink, and festooned with rings and furrows in unfamiliar locations, Spock’s cock needed a thorough exploration. He started by drawing a single finger along its length and had to pause, suddenly feeling thirteen again. The sensory echo made it feel almost as though he were touching himself, and the small anatomical differences gave him the feeling of exploring something completely new.

He drew his fingers through the slick inside of the sheath, drawing fluid up to lubricate Spock’s shaft, then explored the rings and ridges, studiously avoiding, just for the moment, the spots Healer Sovar had indicated were powerful psionic conduits. He would save those for last. He did ghost over them briefly, wanting to make sure he would be able to contact all three at the same time. It took all his self control not to speed the process, to allow them both to warm gradually, build the fire slowly, touch by touch. He leaned in to circle just the tip with lips and tongue. Spock finally relaxed his control enough to groan and shift his hips, so that the head slipped into Kirk’s mouth.

Kirk could tell the precise moment his bottom lip hit the first psi point, and was immediately aware that there was no going back, despite another wave of that pressure that told him Spock was manipulating their physical sensitivity directly to buy them a few more moments. He used those moments to let Spock’s cock slide further into his mouth, covering the second psi point, and paused, savoring the ecstasy that flowed over him, mapping itself in a ghostly fashion over his own cock and spreading like a bonfire’s heat over the rest of his body, from his toes to the top of his head, then he wrapped his hands around the shaft and slid them deliberately down over the third point, just as he felt Spock’s hand wrapping around his own, newly reawakened cock.

They both jerked at the impossible increase in sensation; they had become an exploding star, a crescendo of music, moving together as a single being seeking to prolong its ecstasy. They fell together, allowing their bodies to serve as a faintly glowing, diffuse backdrop for their mingling souls. The place in which they found themselves was unfamiliar to them, abstract in the extreme, and achingly beautiful. The first discontinuity was far above them, and below they rested on a second, and it seemed that if they were to push together, just so, they would lose even the sense of being two together and be a single being--the thought frightened them a little.

They searched their memory--this was where they must break through to resolve the blood fever when it came. They would become one being, but only briefly. That level of communion could not be maintained for more than a few minutes, and would collapse on its own. By mutual agreement, they rose away from that deep space, knowing they could find it again at need. When they returned to their bodies, Kirk found he was too exhausted to move. He expressed his frustration wordlessly to Spock, that he had become like a little kid, sleeping ten or more hours a day, and what good was he to anyone like that?

Spock tidied them both up with a few smooth, efficient strokes with the cloth and advised Kirk to get some rest. _You worry too much._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scene 1: Kirk and Spock dance, clumsily, in the gym. It's cute.  
> Scene 2: Main plot points: Jim sucks at meditating. A psi suppressant like Bones is trying to make may interfere with the bond so they might need to wear gas masks on Talos.  
> Scene 3: Smut all the way out to the end. Plot point. Yes, they are capable of doing the thing.


	17. Betrayals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uhura and T'Pring receive an unsettling revelation from Sarek and Scotty.

Uhura and T’Pring were loading orbital patterns into the code that would control the blocking drones when Scotty strode toward them, his mouth set in a grim line, Ambassador Sarek following close behind him.

“Something going on?”

Scotty immediately launched into a rant. “The crap courier they’re giving us, for one thing. It will only hold thirty! And it’s barely faster than the Enterprise! We’re going to have a devil of a time getting there in advance of the mass driver, and if the Yorktown and Celeste are lost or scuttled, we won’t be able to get everyone off planet in one trip!”

Sarek stood behind him, an incongruous presence. Scotty glanced back at him. “Come up to the ship and look, both of you.” He paused for just slightly longer than he should have, as though he were trying to figure out what to say. “If this is the ship we get, we may have to rethink how we pack the drones.”

“You go ahead, Nyota,” T’Pring said. “I can finish this myself.”

“No, it’s got to be both of you!” Scotty raised his voice, enough to catch the attention of Lieutenant Lim where she was working across the room. “I mean, we need to discuss reprogramming the drones if we have to use fewer of them, and it would be easier to figure that out with both of you.”

As far as Uhura was concerned, Scotty’s request had begun to smell of a lie. He wasn’t his usual flavor of annoyed, he was...replaying his words, the look on his face, his hesitations...he was scared. Putting that together with Sarek’s ominous presence, she could see that something was seriously wrong. She set down her data pad. “We’re making excellent progress, T’Pring. I think we could both use a walk.”

The two women fell into step next to Scotty and Sarek. Scotty jogged Uhura’s elbow. “I found another couple bugs in my room today,” he said, loud enough that he clearly expected to be heard by anyone in the corridor.

Uhura nodded. “I find three or four a day. Must be tiresome for the spooks to have to replace them all the time. I find they crunch satisfyingly under a mug of tea.”

“Resourceful,” Scotty approved. Sarek and T’Pring walked beside them in bemused silence until they arrived at the transport pad. Uhura took a moment, standing just off the pad, to relish the hot, gritty wind whipping at her face and skirt. She hadn’t been outside in days, and it was pleasant to catch a glimpse of sky and breathe air that was free to blow.

She stepped on the pad between Scotty and T’Pring, then off the pad onto the courier they had been assigned for their mission. Expendability was clearly the criterion they had in mind when selecting it. It was an older model, and one that had clearly not been in regular use for a few years, given the stale scent to the air and the fine layer of dust coating those surfaces the tiny cleanerbots hadn’t yet scoured. She moved her foot and one of the bots peeped a warning at her. She glanced downward and made sure to step around it. It was probably bugged, but she couldn’t go around squashing everything that might be listening.

“Sarek, would you show Uhura the cargo space? Use Jeffreys Tube 3.”

Now why would they use a Jeffreys Tube to enter a cargo area when it had a perfectly serviceable door, Uhura wondered. She allowed Sarek to crawl in ahead of her. He stopped at a junction in the tube and turned toward her, then passed her a slip of cream colored paper marked in an ancient Vulcan script. **The walls listen. I would have your thoughts.**

She nodded. The size of this ship’s cargo bay had nothing, apparently, to do with why they were here. She handed the piece of paper back to him and he rubbed his finger deliberately over its printed surface, smudging the words, then tucked it into a pocket of his tunic. He turned to face her full on and reached for her face.

The Vulcans sequestered with them had been making the rounds of the Starfleet personnel, teaching them basic shielding techniques in hopes that they might protect them against Talosian illusions, or at least give them a moment’s early warning. T’Pring had been assigned to get Uhura up to speed. The experience had been frankly delightful for both of them, and they had not hesitated to repeat it often, especially as it had made communicating alterations to the design schematics so much easier. Uhura banished both the thought and her carefully constructed shield to allow Sarek to contact her mind.

A light rapport established itself, then Uhura saw a series of images of opaque boxes and drums of varying sizes, all sitting in nests of wires. Bombs? 

_Scotty found the first, in a broken food replicator in the Starfleet quartering area. We have since found others._

Uhura could see the Admiralty, especially Intelligence, cutting their losses and leaving the crews of the Yorktown and Celeste to die on Talos. She half suspected that, should they fail, the Enterprise might suffer some catastrophic accident, and she was all but certain that all of Spock’s contacts, including herself and probably even T’Pring, broken bond notwithstanding, would quietly be disappeared. But to destroy Gol?

_The bombs are scattered throughout the complex. They contain some kind of toxic gas in addition to explosive. If triggered, hundreds of lives and tens of thousands of katras would be lost._ Uhura wondered what a _katra_ was, but was firmly redirected to the task at hand.

_Do we have a plan?_

_We are sending away as many adepts and acolytes as possible to other facilities without arousing suspicion. Mr. Scott is determining if it is possible to defuse the devices in place without alerting those who placed them. If you locate one, notify Montgomery Scott or me, but do not speak of it to anyone else._

Sarek broke contact, then turned the corner ahead of her in the Jeffrey’s tube. “This way,” he said.

Uhura took a moment to settle her thoughts, more from the discovery that she had been living among bombs placed by her own government than from the meld itself, then followed.

Sarek popped the hatch. “How many satellites do you and T’Pring intend to launch?”

“We’re using a truncated icosahedral orbital pattern, with three satellites covering each vertex, for a total of 180 satellites.” She swung her legs through the hatch and hopped down into the cargo bay, flipping on her tricorder to take a few measurements. “The satellites aren’t very large,” she told Sarek, holding her hands half a meter apart to illustrate.

“Will they fit?”

Uhura consulted the tricorder’s screen. “They will, just. If we put extra atmospheric scrubbers in and pack the living quarters with supplies, we can probably house twenty people in here. Add that to the thirty that can fit in crew living space, that gives us fifty, and assuming we have the Captain, Spock, Doctor McCoy, Scotty, Lieutenant Lim, and me…”

“I will be taking Lieutenant Lim’s place.”

Uhura turned to see T’Pring sliding out of the hatch and into the cargo bay. “You’re a great coder, T’Pring,” Uhura said, “and you’re right, we probably will have to make modifications to the probe’s programming once we get to Talos, but you’re not coming with us,” Uhura said for probably the tenth time.

T’Pring shook her head. “I can do the final adjustments as proficiently as you, and as my bond with Spock has been dissolved, I will not be affected by any illusions that might pass through him once he is awakened on the ship.”

Uhura paused to regard T’Pring with fond frustration. T’Pring was right, of course. Her presence on the mission, as the only available person not bound to Spock, at least not anymore, would be a valuable reality check. “You’re not Starfleet. You’re not obligated.”

T’Pring took, not quite her hand, but her wrist, pressing two fingers to the pulse point. _Gol,_ she said, the switch to subvocal communication not entirely unexpected, _is sacred to my people. The failure of this mission is its doom._

“What does Scotty have to say about it?”

“He agrees with my assessment of the situation.”

Uhura sighed. “So, that still makes six. Meaning we can take forty-four people off the planet. So, are we supposed to gamble that the Yorktown and Celeste are intact, or will we be able to call for a pick up?”

Sarek followed the two women into the cargo bay. “It is estimated that the automated mass driver will take two weeks to reach Talos at its maximum speed, then two to four weeks to collect suitable bolides from the near vicinity of the planet.”

“And when does the automated ship leave for Talos?”

“I am told it is scheduled to leave today. If this ship, the Mariah, leaves in one week as planned, it will arrive just before the mass driver, allowing an additional two weeks during which emergency transport may be arranged.”

“If they send it.” The presence of bombs in the most sacred place on Vulcan, placed there by her own government, had destroyed any trust might have had that they would leave no one behind.

“Indeed.”

*

There was music coming from the makeshift gymnasium, something Terran with a salsa beat, by the sound of it. McCoy wondered which of the crew were responsible. He poked his head in to see Amanda Grayson and Mia Colt sitting on the corner of the mat in loose shorts and tunics, water bottles at their sides. They were both flushed and laughing, their eyes fixed on Spock and Jim, who were apparently just beginning their turn on the floor.

“Mother, do you plan to remain for the duration of our training exercises?” Spock said.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she told him. She caught sight of McCoy in the doorway. “Doctor, come and join us.”

McCoy pulled up a chair just off the mat, behind the two women. Jim turned away from Spock for a moment, “You too now? I feel like we’re on exhibit here.”

McCoy leaned back in his chair. “I’m assessing your fitness to return to duty, Jim. Sovar says you’ve made a lot of improvement, but I’d like to see for myself.”

A couple of Vulcans around Spock’s age, both men, stepped onto the mat across from Spock and Jim. Jim raised his voice slightly to address the room. “Music off,” he said. “For now.”

The four men made a rough square. They were all unarmed and barefoot, and all wearing the same loose shorts and short sleeved tunics the women wore. They moved around each other silently, seeking weaknesses. Jim appeared to be keeping his footing well. McCoy knew that the mishap he had suffered a few days before had been the last, and he was up to taking six to ten kilometer runs in the cool mornings, but he hadn’t really studied Jim’s balance in detail.

One of the Vulcans, the tall, slender one, struck first, reaching for Jim’s leg. He darted away, ducking down and to the right to avoid the Vulcan’s other hand, which had been descending toward his shoulder. Jim moved forward while the other man was slightly unbalanced and swept his feet out from under him, and when the Vulcan tried to roll away, Spock stopped him with a swift strike low on the left chest, pulled of course. “Point,” the defeated man said, and they all returned to their starting positions.

Jim and Spock won a little more than half the points. Jim was, McCoy had to admit, still a little more clumsy than he had been before, but the way he and Spock moved as a fighting pair gave them an advantage that more than compensated for the occasional moments when Kirk stumbled or paused, seeming not to know how to move next.

At the close of the exercise, the four men came together to talk quietly for a moment, then the two Vulcans left the gym. “Music on,” Jim said. He turned to face Spock, then flashed a grin over his shoulder at McCoy before lining himself back up with his partner. The two of them started simple, a basic salsa step, seeming to feel out the music. When they turned though, the look in Jim’s eyes was telling, his pupils wide, a flush on his cheeks out of proportion to their activity level or the temperature in the room. He was grinning broadly, almost laughing.

They turned, picking up the pace a little, Jim allowing Spock to spin him and capture him against his body and then McCoy saw Spock’s face, the smile on it perhaps less obvious to anyone who didn’t know him well, but the softness in his eyes and lips betrayed a lot more emotion than the Vulcan ever admitted to in McCoy’s presence. He found the fact that he was willing to allow both McCoy and his mother to see him so compromised surprising.

He wondered if Jim was showing off on purpose, his way of letting McCoy know that they were okay. McCoy had to admit that he was worried about the both of them. This bond they had formed inadvertently had gotten them awfully wrapped up in each other awfully fast, and McCoy worried that one or both of them were feeling pushed into a different kind of relationship than they wanted. And to be honest with himself, the need to isolate himself from the two of them so that the specifics of the rescue plan wouldn’t pass to any eavesdropping Talosians had left him feeling out of the loop. Kirk had changed, and continued to change, and McCoy found himself thinking about his friend with a certain trepidation he hoped he would be able to overcome.

The dance ended and the two men separated, Jim breathing harder from what McCoy was going to pretend was effort. “I think I’m going to need a nap,” Jim said.

Spock followed him off the mat. “I believe I will join you. Perhaps you could attempt to meditate for a time.”

Amanda favored them with a wry half-smile. “You sure have been taking a lot of naps, son,” she said.

“Mother!” Jim said, chuckling. “I need my beauty rest, you know.”

“Indeed,” Spock added as they left the room.

Had he just heard Spock’s mother tease the two of them about going off to have sex in the middle of the afternoon? He was sure he had. Mercy. 

Once they were gone, she turned to McCoy. “Your captain is a good influence on my son. Mellowing, I think.”

Several answers occurred to him in succession and he dismissed them all as inappropriate, finally saying only, “It’s been a long time coming, though I’m not sure Spock would ever have admitted it without being forced by some crisis.”

“He’s even more stubborn than his father. You know, before all this, they hadn’t really spoken in more than a decade. Sarek didn’t approve of his decision to join Starfleet.”

“And now?”

“I think he accepts it even if he doesn’t like it. He has his reasons.”

“Good reasons?”

“Reasons that make sense to him.”

McCoy turned to Mia Colt. “How you holding up?”

She tried on a smile. “I’m doing all right. Watching those two lovebirds makes me miss Theo and the kids even more. I just want this to be over so I can go home.”

“That’s what we all want.” Amanda gave the younger woman’s shoulder a squeeze. “My garden must be an absolute mess, and the exchange students we were hosting… I haven’t even found out if another family took them or if they had to go home in the middle of the term.”

“You take exchange students?” Mia asked.

“Sarek gets antsy when the house is too empty. Fortunately, he’s not nearly as unreasonable with children who aren’t his own. That or he’s finally mellowing, too. Do me a favor, though,” she said, leaning in toward the doctor. “See if you can contrive an excuse to examine him. He’s been getting short of breath lately and trying to hide it from me. I’m a little worried it might be his heart acting up.”

“Does he have a history?”

“He was injured when he was young. I don’t know the details, unfortunately.”

“I’ll get on him about it, next time I see him. If you want to catch up any more with Spock, you might want to do it today. We’re heading out in three to four days, so Spock will be starting his shots tomorrow.”

“Thanks for letting me know,” Amanda said. 

McCoy took his leave of her. Four days, and the three formulae he and his team had come up with still weren’t quite what he wanted. He headed back to the lab. Unlike the captain and first officer, the chief medical officer wasn’t getting any naps any time soon, euphemistic or otherwise.

*

“Captain Una.” She blinked. She had been returned to her cell, or so it would seem.

The little Talosian was standing outside her cell. She had remembered that they were small and slight, but this one barely reached her ribcage. Easily overpowered, she thought, if she could only get out of her cage.

The little creature flinched, but reached up to press a button on the side of her cage. “What will you do if you overpower me?” it asked, its anxiousness translating in her mind to a tremor in its voice.

“I’ll find a way out of here.” The door slid open. Una stepped down out of the cage, shot forward and captured the small creature with one arm holding it so its back was pressed against her chest and the arms held down at its sides. It projected shock and much more pain than was reasonable for the hold. Perhaps the little creature was able to exaggerate its own discomfort. She shifted the hold slightly and heard a faint grating noise.

“I want to take you to the infirmary to see Doctor Hasan,” it said.

“Why, am I sick?”

“No. But he would like to speak to you in person. You will not find the infirmary easily without me to guide you.” 

Una released the Talosian, who immediately tucked it’s arm to its side as though to brace an injury. She said, “Very well. Take me there.”

The Talosian started down the corridor. Una followed, expecting some florid illusion to appear at any moment. A second Talosian, also short and slight, turned the corner and walked toward them slowly, almost gingerly.

The second quickened its pace when it saw her guide. “Daseh! What happened?” it said.

“I’m on my way to the infirmary, don’t fuss over me. Una, this is my friend, Epol. Epol, this is Captain Una of the Yorktown. She’s the boss of all the humans.”

“And others,” Una corrected. She did not say she was pleased to meet it.

The one called Epol slung an arm around Daseh’s shoulders and the two touched their giant heads together briefly in what looked like a casual greeting. They continued toward the infirmary, Epol’s companionable contact gradually turning into it supporting more and more of Daseh’s weight against its own body.

They reached a busy infirmary, with many Talosians, a lot of them obviously children perched or lying on cots, and a fair chunk of her medical staff, in uniform, looking after them. She opened her mouth to reprimand her chubby, balding CMO and shook her head. She expected no more and no less from the man than this. “Doctor Hasan,” she said, looking around. 

Hasan turned to her. “They brought me here. They tried to show me human children at first. I told them to give me back my eyes so I could treat them effectively. I am sorry, I could not let children suffer.”

“I understand, Doctor,” she said, still uncertain whether she was seeing the real Hasan. He noticed Daseh standing beside her in that slightly curled posture. 

“I think I may have broken one of its...their...ribs,” she admitted, ashamed. She had used more force than was necessary.

“Talosians, especially the young ones, have very fragile bones. Their diet has been nutritionally inadequate for at least a decade. Now, Daseh, come over here so I can knit that bone.” He guided the small Talosian to stand beside him and ran the device over its side.

He certainly behaved like Hasan. “Commodore Pike, my old captain, is here. He is not well.”

“Can you bring him to me?”

“I don’t have the run of the place. I suspect that, if this is real at all, it is only a temporary reprieve.” She looked around the room again. “Hasan, we can’t just let them become our masters.”

“No one is my master. If I were allowed to return to the Yorktown right now, though, would stay right here. This is a mess, Captain. An awful mess. These people have let themselves get into a terrible state and they’ve made some bad decisions. Evil decisions. But that doesn’t make them beyond reform. And these kids aren’t responsible for their parents’ choices.”

“I don’t even know that you’re you, Hasan,” she said. “How can we remake this situation when they have such an unfair advantage over us. Are they even capable of not using people?”

“I guess I just don’t want to see people that way. You’re seeing a group. I’m seeing person, person, person.” He pointed to three Talosians in turn. “If the problem is the system, then break the system. Don’t take it out on these kids.”

“The Prime Directive…”

“The Prime Directive doesn’t apply here.”

“Hasan, I’m not going to order you to stop this. But I need to know. If there’s a chance for us to free our people, whose side are you going to be on?”

“On the side of the wounded, like I always am.” Well that was pure Hasan. As was the fact that he’d turned his medscanner on her while she was preoccupied with arguing. “Let me give you a vitamin shot,” he said, jamming a hypospray into her arm without waiting for her to respond. “Just...when the time comes, promise me you’ll consider solutions that don’t involve abandoning these kids.”

That managed to pull a reluctant, “I will,” out of her. She’d try. But she didn’t yet see how.

“I am to return you to Captain Pike now,” Daseh said.

Una nodded. Taking her chance, there being no one between her and the door, she turned on her heel and sprinted away. She wouldn’t harm any Talosians during her attempt to escape, but perhaps she could learn a little more of the layout of the place before they caught her. She made it almost back to the cell she had been taken from before her senses were taken from her.

*

Admiral Enwright and Commander Phillips stood side by side on the orbital platform, the planet Vulcan turning below them, a pale orange world streaked only here and there with shallow green and blue seas. The mass driver orbited close enough to examine in detail, a modified freighter with an automated navigation system, its interior hollowed out and filled almost entirely with power cells, its forward end awkward looking with the tractor beams it would use to collect debris once it arrived in the Talos system.

“How long until the threat is neutralized?” Phillips asked.

“A freighter like this can only be sped up so much,” Enwright said. “We managed to make some improvements that will get it to the Talos system in eleven days. From there, it depends on how much debris is available to steer into Talos’ path, and the resulting flight paths of the individual bolides. The whole planet should be sterilized within a few months.”

“And the residual?”

“Enterprise is still held over at Starbase 11 for refit. A remotely triggered device has been planted in the warp core to be used at need. The devices you’ve placed at Gol, however, are too extensive. The goal is to provide a contingency for taking out our contaminated personnel, not to destroy the entire monastery.”

“I believe in not leaving loose ends, Admiral,” Phillips said coolly.

Enwright turned to her. “I don’t like working with you people, never have. You’re crazier even than the rest of Intelligence. We are going to wait on the the success or failure of the rescue mission to destroy Talos, and once Talos is destroyed, that will be the end of it.

“It would not be wise for the Federation council to discover that Starfleet greenlighted a genocide.”

“No, it would not. But my decision is final. Scorched Earth only goes through if the mass driver fails.”

Phillips nodded her understanding of the admiral’s position. She did not bother to tell him that in her mind, her authority exceeded his, and that she had other superiors she could consult at need if it seemed that an abundance of caution required the sacrifice of the crews of the Yorktown and Celeste, or even the Enterprise and the monastery at Gol. One did not maintain control of an Empire, or a Federation, by being squeamish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter has, again, smut (as do a couple other chapters. I'll warn you.)


	18. Transformations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock begins the hormone treatments that will bring on _pon farr_ m while the Mariah is readied for the trip to Talos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More smut here at the beginning, in case you're skipping that stuff.
> 
> Also sorry I'm a little late. I spent Friday driving through Wisconsin, Iowa, and Nebraska without internet and I admit it, I just fell into the hotel bed when we got there.
> 
> Smutless summary at the end of the chapter, so the plot is less confusing if you're skipping.

Spock lay across Jim’s naked body, his right leg wrapped around his lover’s legs, his right arm draped across his chest, lightly stroking Jim’s bicep while they drowsed, resting up for one last union. In a matter of hours they would be parted for, if all went as planned, about four days from Spock’s point of view and eleven from Jim’s, given that Spock would be spending the bulk of the time in biostasis.

They had met again with Healer Sovar to ensure that they could commit to this last step in ensuring that they would both survive his time of madness. Jim claimed he knew what he was doing, but Spock suffered from an abundance of caution, and the diagrams provided had been helpful despite the fact that they had caused Jim to turn bright mauve in Sovar’s presence, but to turn to him with nearly giddy anticipation once his uncle had left their room. 

To be fair, he had caught more than a little of Jim’s enthusiasm for joining their bodies and minds-he acknowledged the amused acknowledgement from Jim, a chuckle, followed by _I’ve thoroughly corrupted you, my friend. We’ll have a hard time getting any work done when we get back to the ship._

 _We will both have to practice discipline_ , he replied, punctuating the thought by slowly tracing down Jim’s flank, over a spot he knew was ticklish, so that Jim twitched away and chuckled again. He was captivated by this man’s scent, the expanse of his golden skin, the single minded intensity, almost reverence, that he gave over to their lovemaking. It made him dare to hope that perhaps their _pon farr,_ might not be merely endurable, but glorious.

Jim opened his eyes and rolled toward him. Spock responded by reaching around him into the care package McCoy had made up for them to pull out a bottle of electrolyte solution and a packet of nutlike Vulcan tubers. _Are we going for broke this time?_ Jim asked while crunching his way through his snack. Spock sent confirmation through the bond, along with the concept, too deep and strange to be translated into an image, of that final discontinuity that, once breached, would make them truly a single being, if only for a little while. Jim responded with a ripple of anticipation, then pressed a nut to Spock’s lips.

Spock pulled the morsel into his mouth, grazing Jim’s fingertips with his tongue. _Drink,_ he reminded. They had shared much over the past several days, Jim managing to share more details of his ordeal on Tarsus IV so that neither of them would be ambushed by those memories at a less safe time, Spock allowing some of the less pleasant encounters from his childhood to emerge.

Jim tossed the emptied bottle back into the bag, and leaned forward into a deep, human kiss, deliberately seeking out the small patch on the roof of Spock’s mouth that sent both of them spinning softly into weightlessness. Spock, for his part, swept his hands slowly down Jim’s back, bringing them back to themselves, grounding them in the pressure of his fingers kneading the firm muscles of Jim’s buttocks and pressing gently, then more insistently into the crack.

They rolled to place Jim on his back and his lover raised his hips to present his opening, prepared carefully with fingers and lubricant before Jim had taken his well deserved rest. Jim reached up to stroke through Spock’s hair and down across his face. Their day in bed had included a thorough cataloguing of every concentration of nerves that passed close to Jim’s skin, not psi points precisely, but serviceable conduits that with use would begin to approximate the same.

He rested Jim’s buttocks on his knees and reached forward to stroke lightly at each spot again, along his cheekbones, in the divots alongside his chin, and the powerful one at the temples, each sending a slightly different sweet vertigo through them both. He rounded the back of Jim’s head to touch lightly at the base of the skull then down along the paired nodes at each vertebra he could reach, then dragged his fingers around to his chest, slotting them between Jim’s ribs with just the right amount of pressure to hover between a stroke and a tickle, feeling the muscles tense in response.

A slight apologetic sigh from Jim, who had fallen completely still in the wake of overwhelming stimulation, gave him a moment’s pause. Spock took his lover’s hands in his, drawing each finger into his mouth in turn, then released them. _Be still for now_ , he suggested.

Assent. Spock continued cataloguing. The soles of Jim’s feet, very ticklish, so to be touched with caution. He drew his hands up the back of each leg, lightly grazing the backs of his knees, there was a sharply sensitive spot there, but far too ticklish to linger on. He slowed when he reached Jim’s thighs to trace light circles over the sensitive skin there, circling closer to Jim’s anus with each stroke, their anticipation building in unison. _You are exquisite_ , he said, slipping a hand under the pillow where he’d stored the tube of lubricant to reapply a generous portion, then teased Jim open with first one, then two fingertips. Jim groaned audibly. 

He had to stop himself, shift back into their mindspace for a moment to find their pleasure centers and damp them to slow his own response down. He intended to make this last time perfect, slow and controlled until the last possible second. He added a third finger, pressed them flat into a wedge, and slid gradually inward, relishing Jim’s wriggling against him and the sight and feel of Jim’s fingers twisting into the blankets. Once he was sure all was prepared, he reached down to stroke Jim’s penis slowly from base to tip, first lightly and then more insistently, until his lover sat on the cusp, then he took Jim’s twisting hands in his and guided them to his own buttocks. _Please_ … Jim said, not quite in words, pressing down into Spock with his hips.

Jim reached out mentally in a sort of caress, bringing them closer, while Spock carefully placed himself over the hole, uncertain at just that moment how to proceed. He would feel his entry through his own body and Jim’s, so there was little chance he would cause pain, but he was still unsure. He leaned forward, the tip of his penis hugged tightly by the muscles at the opening, then pressed forward a little more. Jim engaged with him more directly, winding their intention together with a deftness that made Spock more than a little proud of his growing skill. It took all their concentration to stay grounded as the first two psi points slid into contact with Jim’s body. He rocked a little, pushing in a few millimeters more with each stroke. They had gained a little experience in just how far they could push themselves without going over the edge, and Spock took full advantage, glad that when Jim was so fully occupied with their shared pleasure he, for once, was incapable of dwelling on future crises. Grateful he could provide his beloved some respite in this way, he prolonged his gentle ministrations, coupling slow, downward thrusts with strokes of his hand for as long as he could sustain them on the brink, then caught Jim’s attention. _Ready?_

Jim signalled his assent, punctuating it by grasping Spock’s buttocks to pull him closer. Spock pushed forward and buried himself deeply once, twice, three times, then held there, tightly bound, as they both crashed over the edge and the pleasure arcing through them like current consumed them both in a brilliant flash.

They were motes swirling around each other in darkness shot with falling stars. They fell together easily, broke through the last barrier between them, and were a single being, the precise chains and trees of thought of the one merging with the other’s patterns, snowflakes of reason accreting on flashes of intuition. There was a sense that here, he could solve any problem, if he could figure out how to bring the knowledge out of this place of crystalline clarity into his components’ waking life. He took the brief time he had to shore up the resilience of each of his component minds, that they might endure the difficulties soon to follow. He sorted through his components’ memories, selecting those that would provide the most comfort, and placed them at the forefront of each mind within his. He promised himself that he would exist again, there would be other times that the two who made him up would become one again, but he could feel their hearts racing and knew that the bodies had reached the end of their endurance. He allowed them to fall apart.

As he slid out of Jim’s body, Spock’s first separate realization was that Jim was completely exhausted by the extended, deep contact. He took several minutes to wipe them both clean, dispose of the towels they had set beside them for the purpose into the ‘fresher, and roll Jim forward off the wet sheet, placing a new dry towel down beneath him. Jim recovered enough to catch at his hands and try to kiss them. He checked his chrono. They had about an hour before Spock was scheduled to receive the first injections, then they would not see each other again until they reached Talos.

He lay back down on fresh sheets, molding his body to Jim’s, tangling their arms together against his chest, and drifted into a state that was half sleep, half meditation. If he overslept, he was certain McCoy would indulge him this once.

*

McCoy hit the door chime a third time. Still no answer. He was about to punch in a medical override and had to admit that half the reason he was hesitating was that there were some things he really did not want to interrupt. Finally, Spock said, “A moment, please, Doctor, and we will be prepared to join you.”

He waited another couple of minutes. “Spock, come on, we need to start the injections tonight or we won’t be able to leave on time.”

“I am aware,” Spock said through the door.

Finally, the door slid open. The room was neat and both Spock and Jim were freshly showered and dressed in Vulcan style tunics and loose pants. Jim held, no, clung to Spock’s hand, while the Vulcan looked back at McCoy with a mild expression that dared him to make any sort of comment.

“Well, come on then,” he told them. They were awfully cute together. They’d be even cuter if they weren’t so desperate looking, Kirk especially. McCoy hadn’t said anything directly to the captain, but he had been worried enough about how Kirk would fare without Spock around to lean on that he had met with both Sovar and Sarek about it.

Keep him busy, Sarek had said, and don’t let him get lonely, Sovar had advised. He led the two into the secured room, the cell really, in which Spock would have to stay until he was placed in stasis for the trip out. He’d be adjusting Spock’s hormone levels several times a day until it was time to put him in stasis, and then, if all went well, they would be heading off to Talos.

“All right, Spock, you’ll have access to the library computers and comm systems for the time being. Sovar tells me that comm contact between bondmates in the early stages of the fever can be calming, so you two do not have to limit your communications, either by vidlink or, you know, the Vulcan voodoo stuff y’all do now instead of just talking like regular people.” He paused to prep a hypo and double check the dosage.

Kirk frowned.

“Seriously, Jim, you used to be impossible to shut up and now I hardly hear a peep out of you. Takes getting used to, is all.” 

“Sorry, Bones. I’ve been preoccupied.” And there was that damn blush again. On both of them. Like a couple of teenagers. They went and rubbed their fingers together in that Vulcan kiss thing he’d been seeing way too much lately. Sarek and Amanda, Spock and Jim, and he’d caught Uhura and T’Pring at it in the common room an hour ago. He was starting to wonder if there was some middle aged Vulcan woman hiding out in the caves somewhere ready to pounce on him. No way that was happening. It was a good thing Sovar was safely married.

“All right, this is the first dose. Shouldn’t hurt much, but you might feel warm for a minute. Like a hot flash.” He pressed the hypo to Spock’s neck.

Spock fixed his gaze on Jim for another half minute, then said, “Please go now. I must meditate for a time.”

McCoy turned to go. Jim didn’t. McCoy reached out to hook the captain by the elbow, realized his error, but failed to stop himself in time. He was unprepared for the weight that slammed into his chest so that he hissed and bent forward under it. His next instinct was to snatch his hand away, but this was Jim suffering, his Jim, practically a kid brother to him, and so he wrapped an arm about his shoulders and led him out of the room, keying the door lock on the way out and belatedly remembering that shield thing Sovar had taught him.

One foot in front of the other and don’t forget to breathe, he told himself. He got Jim to a chair and backed away before they both passed out. _Sorry._ Jim cleared his throat. “I mean, sorry,” he said, in a strained voice. “I guess it just got real. Where we’re going. What we have to do. Our chances of getting out of this alive.”

“They aren’t good,” McCoy agreed. 

“I’m not planning to accept that,” Jim said, rallying a little.

“Well, I can’t tell you any details, but the work at my end is right on schedule, as is the work Uhura’s doing. We’ll be ready to leave as soon as Spock is ready to go into stasis, whether that’s four days or two.”

“Right,” Kirk said. “You already know not to obey any orders I give that go against the mission, right?”

“I do.”

“I will try not to put you in that position, but I can’t promise. I don’t know how this _pon farr_ thing is going to affect me.”

“And after, if there is an after?”

“We’ll marry, Earth style, when we get the chance. Spock wants a traditional Jewish wedding, for his mom’s sake.”

McCoy nodded. He felt like he had to ask one more time. “Are you okay with all this? I mean, it’s kind of sudden.”

Kirk could not have turned redder if he’d been dipped in marinara. “It’s... amazing, Bones. I mean, we _get_ each other. We work together so well already and the sex,” he paused and shook his head, as if in disbelief. “I will not miss playing the field, not one bit.” He pantomimed his head exploding, with a little *pow* sound effect, and McCoy knew he definitely needed a drink. Not that he’d be able to find one on this rock. Maybe Scotty had something.

Kirk turned toward him, more serious. “Bones, we’re not going to stop being best friends, are we?”

McCoy wanted to say yes, but he wasn’t sure Jim was going to have room for a best friend anymore. “I don’t know, Jim. Are we?”

Jim leaned forward, elbows on his knees, to stare down at the floor. “I need you both. We’re a team. He’s...he’s steadying, he reminds me to think things through. And you’re...I don’t know how to describe it.”

He looked up, studying McCoy with an intensity he could almost feel. No, an intensity he could literally feel. McCoy tore his gaze away, suddenly dizzy.

“You care so much. You never let me forget to care, when it all starts to seem like a game, like a bright blue angel...” He trailed off. Blue again, McCoy thought, with a frisson of discomfort. Jim flinched. “And now you’re afraid of me.”

“I’m not,” McCoy said quietly. 

“Bullshit,” Jim said.

McCoy looked down at his shoes. “Did you know you and I have one of those, familial bond things?”

“I guess I work fast,” Jim chuckled without mirth. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s at least ten years old.”

Jim looked up at him, puzzled. “I don’t…”

“It’s not that unusual. Uhura has over a hundred of them, apparently. You know how she is with people. Threw T’Pau for a loop.”

“Uhura’s esper?”

McCoy nodded. “She scores out at a 204. Just over the official threshold, but not enough to really use for anything concrete. Makes it easier to get some jobs, communications,” he paused again to swallow, “medical, but it can make it harder to get approved for the command track. The brass don’t think you’re quite trustworthy.” He needed a distraction, something to chew on. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. “Jim, half my family disappeared in the anti-eugenics cleansings of 2054. Now there’s an ironic name for a genocide. Massacring naturally occurring geniuses, neurodivergents, espers, all in the name of equality.”

“You never mentioned it.” 

“My rating from my entrance physical was 192. Below the legal threshold, I’ll have you know. Enough to trust my hunches is all, but.” He shrugged. “We all got hangups.” 

Jim shook his head. “I didn’t ask for this.”

McCoy shrugged. “I know. Probably won’t matter anyway, Spock estimates our chances of surviving this mission at, what did he say? Fourteen point something percent.”

Jim chuckled unhappily. “That high?”

*

Kirk, McCoy, and Scotty stood on the transporter pad, awaiting beam up to the Mariah, a ship that was not as fast as its name suggested, though it was able to hit a slightly higher warp than the Enterprise. When it was built thirty years ago, it was the fastest thing in the sky. 

Kirk dissolved and reformed in a subjective instant. The space in the ship was just cramped enough to worry him. A couple of weeks of spending a couple of hours a day in the gym had given him his ”sea legs”. His inner ear still responded to everyone around him as though they had their own personal gravitational fields, but he was able to push past the effect, so he was nearly as coordinated as he had been before. He worried about accidental physical contact, and about the fact that he sometimes had to watch people’s lips to make sure they were actually speaking. “Scotty, you…” he said, then cut himself off. “Orders, sir?”

“Captain,” Scotty said, almost apologetically, his discomfort with their changed roles bleeding through Kirk’s shields. “I’ll be doing final engine checks. Lt. Uhura and T’Pring are stowing the drones tomorrow, and then we can leave whenever McCoy clears Spock to go into stasis.”

Scott turned to the doctor. “You and Kirk work on containment for the Talosian. Sickbay on this thing is tiny, but Burnham says you’re authorized to stuff anything you can fit in there.”

He followed McCoy to the ship’s tiny sickbay, little more than an alcove with a plasteel enclosure hastily erected in one corner to provide containment for the Talosian prisoner. McCoy bustled about sickbay, making notes on his data pad, presumably of all the supplies he was going to need.

McCoy perched on the edge of a biobed. “So how you holding up, really?”

Kirk shrugged. “Spock’s shielding me from the worst of it, for now. Once he can’t, he goes in stasis and we’re out of here.”

“Come on, that’s no answer.” 

Kirk got up to pace. There wasn’t much room for it, a couple of steps one way, and another couple of steps back. “I’m itchy. Like I’m getting a rash or something. Everywhere, but especially in certain regions.” He caught himself looking down and his cheeks heated. He made another circuit of the room, pretending to check out the containment area for the Talosian. “Spock’s worse. Crazy dreams, cold sweats. I sat on the other side of his door for a couple of hours last night so he could meditate.”

“I saw you.”

“So, this is the containment area.” He needed a new topic.

“Yeah. We’ll bring the Talosian in, knock them out, I get a good scan, beam them back down and tweak the formula.” McCoy pivoted. “And this over here,” he tapped a huge cylindrical chamber that filled much of the remaining free space, “is Spock’s biostasis unit. Now, there will be a small amount of overlap, when he’ll be awake and potentially subject to illusions, but before you two beam down. We’re hoping you’ll both be able to block those illusions either directly or just by getting enraged at them.”

“We can work on the exact timing once we’re in orbit and the drones are deployed.”

“Right.” McCoy turned to Kirk. “One other thing.”

“Yeah?”

“When Spock goes into stasis, you know the bond is going to go dormant. We’re not sure how it will affect you, but it won’t be good, and you’re going to have to lean on the rest of us. Uhura, Scotty, me. Especially me. We’re all prepared for that to happen, you got me?”

“I’ll be fine.” 

Bones shook his head. “You think so now, but you won’t be. And we’re not going to let you be not fine alone. It’s still almost six days to Talos, even in a fast courier.”

“I’ve survived worse,” Kirk assured McCoy. 

His friend folded his arms and frowned at him, but didn’t press the issue. “Come on, I’ll give you a tour of the rest of the ship, what there is of it.”

Sickbay was just aft of the bridge, a tiny affair that resembled a shuttlecraft’s cockpit. Kirk tried out the pilot’s seat and noticed that it felt slightly raised on one side, as though it had been sheared off at some time in the past and repaired imperfectly. He lifted the side padding to check under the seat and froze. There was a metal canister about the size of a drink bottle wired into the underside of the seat.

“Bones!” he shouted, remaining canted awkwardly over the side of the seat, not knowing if shifting his weight would set the thing off.

The doctor planted a hand on his shoulder, willing him not to say a word. Kirk tried to shrug him off before his shields failed. _Back off!_ he projected, maybe a little too loudly.

Bones backed off to sit on his haunches, still close enough that they could hear each other thinking, if they made an effort. He seemed more tired and resigned, less panicked than Kirk would have expected under the circumstances. The doctor sighed, as though taking a moment to choose his words, closed his eyes, and projected back, somewhat clumsily. _It won’t go off right now. Poison gas. Cyclosarin. They’re everywhere. All over Gol, all over the ship. Scotty’s working on a way to disarm them in place without letting Intelligence know that we’ve seen them._ McCoy’s unease with the unfamiliar method of communication came through more clearly than the words.

 _I feel so much better now,_ Kirk projected back, making sure his sarcasm came through loud and clear. 

_You can sit up now._

Kirk righted himself. “Some ship we’ve got here,” he said. He stood, a little more gingerly than he would have if he hadn’t just been sitting on a bomb. 

McCoy led him back around Sickbay, through the combination briefing room and common room and to the quarters on the lower deck. “There are six rooms furnished to sleep four, two doubles, and two singles. I have you set up in one of the doubles. I’ve had a treadmill brought up for you to use in there, and I expect you to use it.”

“Let’s get back down to the planet. I’d like to see if Uhura and T’Pring need any help loading the drones.”

They ran into Scotty in the engine room. “We’re heading back down. You coming?”

“I have to. Nobody leaves Gol alone until Spock’s safely in biostasis. Captain Burnham’s orders.”

“Do you need more time?”

Scotty shook his head, then started bagging up his tools. “Nah, I just like it up here. Not much for being stuck in a cave.”

They signalled for beam down and returned to the surface. Kirk’s restlessness abated the closer he was to Spock. His mind, left to its own devices, always wandered back to him. He pulled up the chair outside Spock’s locked quarters and sat, data pad in hand.

Amanda found him with his back pressed flat against the door. “Is he doing all right?”

“He’s not supposed to be doing all right. I mean, getting ourselves out of joint is the point. But yeah. He’s hanging in there.”

She produced an old fashioned paper book, Kirk’s favorite kind. “I used to read this to him when he was little. He might find it pleasant to hear your voice.”

Kirk looked down at the book. Lewis Carroll. Alice in Wonderland. It had been ages since he had read that. “Worth a try,” he said. “Thanks. Oh, how is Mia doing?” 

“As well as can be expected. I’m trying to keep her busy.” She turned to leave. “Son. I wanted to make sure you knew that Sarek and I are glad you are part of our family.”

“It seems like a good family to be a part of,” he said. She acknowledged his sentiment with that Vulcan half nod, half bow and left him sitting by the door.

Kirk flipped open the book to the first page. Spock was sitting directly opposite him in front of the door, close enough that his aura, agitated and prickling, seemed to seep right through the door and wash over him, dancing faintly over the page as he read. "Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do,” he began. He could feel Spock’s attention on him and on the words in the book, could feel the restlessness between them settle just slightly, and if he had to sit here and read all night to keep it at bay, then that was what he would do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scene 1: Much smut. Smutty smutty smut. Pon farr dress rehearsal, sort of.   
> Scene 2: Spock starts hormone treatments and they are separated.  
> Really important McCoy & Kirk conversation in which Kirk reassures Bones that he isn't unnecessary, they talk about McCoy's fears and where they stem from.  
> Scene 3: Kirk and McCoy, on the ship, discuss how Spock is doing with the hormone treatments. McCoy makes sure Kirk knows that when the bond goes dormant while Spock's in stasis he is welcome, and expected, to lean on him for support. Also there's a bomb on the ship.  
> Scene 4: Kirk reads Alice in Wonderland to Spock through the door.


	19. Solace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock goes into biostasis. Captain Una tries to engage Commander Pike.

Kirk paced the common room used by the Starfleet detainees, feeling decidedly not fine. Every inch of his skin crawled. Faced with a choice between scratching himself raw and pacing the floor of the common room with his fists clenched at his sides, he had chosen the lesser evil. He knew that no matter how he felt, Spock felt exponentially worse.

The first full day of Spock’s confinement, Kirk had managed to spend a little time working on strategies for when they reached Talos. If they could incapacitate the Talosians, he hoped they could gain the assistance of the captured Starfleet personnel. So much of the plan depended on at least one of the captured ships being intact, otherwise rescue would be logistically impossible.

If the problem of rescuing the Starfleet personnel weren’t difficult enough, he also felt obligated to pick away at the problem the Talosians presented. On the one hand, Starfleet was right in their assessment of the Talosians’ long term threat, especially given the handle they had on Spock. On the other, even the threat that existed seemed a thin justification for genocide. The knowledge that Starfleet planned to go ahead with bombarding Talos regardless of the outcome of their rescue mission left him on edge. Frustrated, he gave up, not knowing whether his inability to continue was due to not having enough information to formulate a viable plan or due to the reflection of Spock’s _pon farr_ keeping him from focusing on anything for more than a few minutes at a time. 

The second full day he’d been able to do little but alternate between pacing and sitting outside the door to Spock’s quarters. The hormone shots were high dose, causing the hormonal cascade to progress more rapidly than usual. Spock was already feverish and in constant pain. The fact that he was no longer snapping at Bones when the doctor brought him the meals he didn’t eat was a bad sign. Even though they both knew, at least in theory, what they had signed up for, the actual process was as unpleasant as promised. Early in the morning, he had gone to the infirmary to see the coffinlike cylinder in which his partner would travel with him to Talos. Neither of them had slept at all the previous night, but had sat on either side of the door, talking when they were up to it, sitting quietly when they weren’t. 

Uhura came up behind him a little too quickly. “What is it, Lieutenant?” he barked, then backtracked. “Sorry, as you were.” She continued on her way. “Lieutenant,” he said, stopping her on her way out the door.

“Yes, Captain?”

“I don’t like the plan as it stands. Not at all. It...seems to me like we’ve gotten awfully comfortable with the prospect of genocide.”

“It isn’t a thing to get comfortable with,” Uhura agreed.

“Help Captain Burnham see better options, if they exist,” he said. “I won’t be in a position to drive strategy.”

“We all will, Captain,” she assured him.

She returned to the table where she and the atmospheric chemist were hard at work. Right now, Dr. McCoy and Sarek were taking Spock to the infirmary to put him in biostasis. Kirk dropped onto a couch, allowing the bond to flow through him, awash in the dread Spock wouldn’t allow to show on his face. The entire bond was suffused with their mutual frustration with not being near each other, a sort of burning prickle like he’d hit his funny bone, but all over his body. _It’s time_ , Spock said. He tried to narrow the bond from his end, but Kirk held it open for a moment longer.

“See you on the other side,” he said. Uhura looked askance at him and he realized he’d said it aloud. “It’s nothing,” he told her.

Scott set down his own datapad, though his surreptitious glance in Kirk’s direction was brief. Sovar looked up from where he sat a few meters away, pretending to read. The bond closed down to a trickle, but Kirk could still feel Spock’s consciousness dim under the influence of the sedative, so far a not unwelcome relief. The trouble was that the feel of Spock asleep became the feel of Spock unconscious, more and more unreachable, and Kirk felt compelled to follow him down as the ancient, deeper parts of Spock’s brain struggled against what felt not like sleep, but like impending death, and Kirk felt Spock clinging to him as if he were drowning. Until suddenly, he was gone.

There was a moment, maybe two or three seconds, in which his instinct was to pretend he was okay, not to show weakness in a crisis; he’d been in situations before in which Spock or McCoy was missing and he had good reason to think they were dead, but the weight of Spock’s absence pressed down on the back of his head and the center of his chest. His vision darkened from the edges to the center, the pain like an icepick rammed into his brain.

He curled up physically on the couch, drawing his knees to his chest and burying his face. The dark rose up to meet him, and he did nothing to resist it. Pesky ghosts plucked at his soul, sunshine yellow, grass green, marigold and aquamarine, nagging him to breathe, to come up into the light, whispering lies into his mind that Spock was not gone, but only resting so that he could travel safely and at some level he remembered that was the plan but all he could feel now was the absence, the gaping hole in his soul and he fought, hard. Something held him fast, forcing his lungs to work, keeping him from seeking out where Spock had gone.

 _We’ve been through worse scrapes than this,_ one ghost said, a burr in his voice, blocking the path down.

Another chided, _Don’t you leave us, Captain._ He pushed her away, but she followed like a cat at his heels. 

He could just hear running steps pelting hard against the stone tiles and a frightened, desperate periwinkle flash crashed into the dungeon of his soul, an angry ghost screaming in what passed for his ears, _Don’t you dare pull a Romeo Montague on me!_ It held on tight, too bright to be a ghost, more an Archangel pouring into the empty space Spock had left behind.

 _Bones!_ His angel floundered a bit, clumsy in the unfamiliar space, but his intention was captured and amplified by the busybody who hadn’t let him die--Sovar, he realized belatedly. A memory pushed forward, Spock safe and still in the biostasis tube, the readings on the side of the tube not familiar to Kirk, but their meaning carefully highlighted. _He’s okay. You just have to wait for him._

 _I’ll wait here._ He was fully aware of the petulance in his tone.

 _You’re coming with me._ Oh, that was not fair, Bones being fully capable of pulling that tone of voice where he didn’t even have a voice. Kirk grudgingly reached for Bones, allowed himself to be held while Sovar took them down into Kirk’s mind, where the bond had been, deep enough that he felt Bones stifle panic. 

Sovar commanded his attention, drawing him toward a faint ember of connection that remained between him and Spock. _Not dead, sleeping_ , he insisted, and allowed him to remain for a few moments to burn that steady glow into his memory before he dragged them back up into their bodies. Kirk’s head rested against Bones’ pounding heart, the doctor’s arms wrapped so tightly around him that the tendons in his forearms stuck out like cords.

The Healer’s hand left his face, but the other hand held steady at the pulse point of his wrist. He asked, a little hesitantly, as if the topic were delicate, “You are brothers?”

Bones spoke for Kirk. “Not by blood.”

“I see.” He arranged himself more comfortably on the couch with a rustle of robes. “Twice,” he said, his voice bemused. “Extraordinary. I begin to understand what my brother finds so fascinating about humans. Dr. McCoy, I am maintaining a partial shield between you and James at this time. I will do so until James is recovered enough to direct a meld safely or until he is willing to release you.”

Bones shifted under Kirk, prompting him to grab at him. _Don’t leave me,_ he said.

“I’m not going anywhere, Jim. You’ve just got me bent into a pretzel.” Kirk leaned back into the couch cushions. Bones, who had been crouched over Kirk and Sovar, pivoted to sit beside him, one arm still wrapped tightly about his shoulders. Arranged around them in a ring were Scotty, Uhura, and T’Pring. Uhura and T’Pring quickly separated their linked hands, Uhura looking at the floor. Bones scrubbed at Kirk’s back with his knuckles. “We’re all right here.”

Kirk forced himself to sit upright. “I’m all right now,” he lied, then clarified. “I think you can let go of me, Bones. I don’t want to delay any longer than we have to.”

Bones scooted down the couch, giving Kirk a little space to try to rebuild his shields. “Spock should be loaded onto the Mariah. We can leave as soon as you’re ready to travel.”

Kirk slapped his thighs with his hands. “All right then, let’s go. No time to waste.” He hauled himself off the couch and launched himself toward the doorway, hardly stumbling at all. 

*

It certainly wasn’t the fully appointed sickbay McCoy was used to. Captains Burnham and Kirk followed him aft to the small, immaculately white room. Burnham was the picture of professionalism, from her neat uniform to her composed expression, though she did keep casting sidelong looks at Jim. “Problem, Captain?” McCoy asked her, just a little more bitingly than he intended. 

Jim answered instead, “I’m fine,” in a tone that convinced no one and straightened his uniform. McCoy stepped aside so he could pass between them to brace his hands on the stasis tube. Jim kept leaning forward, as though to look through the small viewing window, then shying away.

Burnham turned to them. “I see you have matters well in hand here, Doctor. I expect to have a brief staff meeting in four hours in order to discuss our timetable. Captain,” she turned to Jim. “You have taken on a greater burden than the rest of us and I am grateful for your sacrifice. If you are sufficiently recovered to attend, you are welcome. I would value your insights.”

Jim straightened. “I appreciate the offer, Captain, and expect to attend.” As soon as the sickbay door slid shut behind her, Jim folded his arms on the stasis tube and lay his head on them.

McCoy took the opportunity to run a tricorder over him. His heart rate was still over a hundred, his blood pressure was a little high, and his blood sugar was dangerously low again. He put an energy drink into the Captain’s hand. “All of it, or it’s going into a vein.”

Jim took a swig, grimaced, and looked down. “Purple, this time?” He finished the drink all at once and allowed the empty bottle to slip from his fingers. It bounced and rolled into a corner. “I have got a monster of a headache,” he said, as though that were the only thing wrong with him.

Bones resisted the urge to scrub at his own headache. “Not a surprise,” he said, filling a hypo and pressing it to Jim’s throat. “I’m taking you to your quarters.”

“I’d rather stay here.”

“You need a shower and some rest before the staff meeting.”

Jim stood by the biostasis tube for almost a minute before speaking. “Got to keep up appearances,” he conceded. He gave the stasis tube a farewell tap and followed McCoy further aft to his quarters, wincing at the sight of the double bed. “Not going to need that.”

“Maybe not on the way out,” he said. “But you’ll want it on the way home,” he said, forcing optimism into his voice. “Now go take a shower, and leave the door cracked.”

Jim disappeared into the bathroom. McCoy took a seat at one of the desks to wait him out. When he’d taken Spock back to put him in stasis, the Vulcan had been subdued, mustering all of his control to submit to McCoy’s ministrations, Sarek keeping watch to make sure his agitation didn’t lead to violence. The last thing he’d said before the tube was closed around him was, “Take care of my Jim. He needs you.” His Jim. Really.

About two minutes later, as the stasis process was cycling down, he’d known Jim was in trouble. He hadn’t even questioned the source of his hunch, just left left Spock in Chapel’s capable hands and made a run for it. In retrospect, it was probably a good thing that he hadn’t had time to get himself all worked up about the whole telepathy thing beforehand. And it was pretty damn clear Jim wasn’t going to be able to make it six days without a lot of support. That bond, crushed almost out of existence at such a crucial, early stage was acting like a bullet hole in his friend’s mind, and all they’d really done was pack the hole full of hemostatic gauze to stop the bleeding. Metaphorically speaking.

Jim came out the bathroom with his towel wrapped around his waist, having forgotten to take his clothes with him. He pulled on sweatpants and a black undershirt, not making any pretense at modesty, perhaps because McCoy was his doctor along with everything else, or perhaps because he didn’t have the energy to care. He dropped onto the bed. 

“Jim,” McCoy said.

“I’m fine,” his friend lied, again.

McCoy sat next to him, not too close. “You’re not. And I can’t leave you alone until I know you won’t fall asleep and just...not wake up.”

Jim cursed under his breath. “Spock is not dead. It’s an illusion. A different kind than we’ll be fighting at Talos, but still. Not real. I should be able to accept that.”

“It’s going to take more than a few weeks to turn you into a Vulcan. Grief doesn’t have an off switch.”

“Will it hurt Spock if I check the bond?”

“No. Just don’t get aggressive about trying to wake him up. I’d hate for you to succeed.” He half suspected the hobgoblin, suitably motivated, could circumvent biostasis, but there’d be no way he could get out of the tube. He shuddered at the thought of anyone waking, fighting off the cold and the drugs to find themselves sealed into that metal coffin. 

Jim lay back on the bed and got quiet. McCoy ran a scanner over him at intervals, realizing that he ought to have installed a biobed panel in the room, since there was no way Jim was sleeping alone until McCoy was sure he wasn’t going to brady down on him like he’d heard Vulcans sometimes did under similar circumstances.

He’d get Scotty on it. They’d prepared for Talos as much as they could without having detailed scans of the planet, so they’d have little to do for the next several days. The next scan showed Kirk’s brain waves slowing into a passable facsimile of normal sleep. McCoy set the portable scanner on Jim’s bedside table and set alarm parameters, then pulled the second desk chair over beside the first, put his feet up on it, and settled in to read.

*

Una stood on a hardwood floor outside a bedroom decorated with dried flowers and white bedding. A gentle breeze blew in through wide open windows so that the curtains fluttered over the curled up form of Commodore Pike.

He lay on the bed in his clothes, on top of the covers, facing away from the door. Una turned to a slight sound behind her. Vina. “He won’t even get up to eat anymore,” Vina said. “They take him away twice a day to put food into him.”

“And you asked for me to be brought back,” Una said.

“I don’t want him to die.”

Una didn’t turn around, but addressed her answer to the form on the bed. “You shouldn’t have brought him here.”

“I couldn’t go with him. He saw what I really look like. I disgust him.”

“Vina, you treated him like a prize. Even back then.” She turned around then, to meet the other woman’s eyes. “You weren’t really a newborn infant when you came here, were you. We found a Vina on the ship’s manifest.”

“I was nineteen.” Vina refused to look away, the stubborn set of her jaw and her crossed arms showing she considered her lie justified.

“Old enough to know better. Tell me, Vina, how much of this was your idea?”

She smiled. “I made sure the plan included him.”

Una pursed her lips, considering the ageless face, ever blonde, ever perfect, ever nineteen. “I wonder what you really look like?”

Vina glared. “Did Pike tell you? Did he tell you that I’m...grotesque?”

“I wonder if the image of you as grotesque wasn’t just another illusion.” Vina’s mouth opened. She stared at Una without speaking for several seconds, then snapped it shut and turned away without a word.

Una brushed past her to sit on the bed where Pike lay. “Commodore,” she said.

He didn’t answer.

“Commodore, as the ranking officer on this planet you have a duty to lead.”

Nothing. “Very well. You are relieved of command. I order you to sit up.” After a count of ten, she hauled him to a sitting position. “This behavior is not passive resistance. There are over four hundred of our people here. We do not know if rescue is coming tomorrow, next month, or next year. I cannot afford to indulge your behavior.”

“Then don’t.” He spoke so softly she thought she might have imagined it.

She sat down on the bed next to him and tipped his body so it leaned against her. It kept him upright. “What do you smell? Ignore everything else, just tell me what you smell.”

She waited longer this time. A full minute. He shifted beside her, tense. “You need a shower,” he said, voice cracking from disuse.

“We both could use a shower .My Caitian first officer mentioned the Talosians don’t do odors well. To an extent, we can trust our noses when our eyes fail us.”

“Not being stubborn,” he mumbled. “I’m just so heavy.”

The sight of him so changed, made over into someone so much smaller than the Pike she remembered, sent a spike of anger through her body. For a moment, the farmhouse faded, to be replaced with a ghostly image of rough hewn stone. She tried to pursue it, but curiosity didn’t deter the Talosian or Talosians controlling her senses near as much as that brief spike of rage and the farmhouse illusion resolidified around her. “You don’t have to move,” she told Pike. “Just talk to me. How did they get you here?” 

“Froze me. Couldn’t move.”

Una reached hesitantly around him, uncertain of her place. She drew her arm away ,then changed her mind again and let it settle around Pike’s bony shoulders. “I heard. You had an accident.”

“No accident. They got to Spock. Same as me. And you. They tricked him. He brought the Enterprise.” He stopped to take a breath. “Have you seen them?”

“Seen who?”

He was silent for a long time before answering. “Spock. Enterprise.”

Una considered. “No, but I’ve only seen a dozen people total. Some of mine from the Yorktown. A few from a survey vessel called the Celeste. We were brought here about the same time.”

Pike nodded, a whole body bob. “Better than me.”

“What?”

“You’ve done good. Better than me.” He sat up and turned to face her. “Enterprise. Destroyed?”

It was almost a repeat of his previous question. “I don’t know,” she said. “Commodore, the Talosians are in a lot worse circumstances than they were in the last time we were here. They’re dying.”

“Can we outlast them?”

“I don’t think so. The machines that keep them alive are keeping us alive. But it’s causing unrest we may be able to use.”

“You’ve seen them? In person?” He paused. “I mean, you think you have.”

“I think I have. Couple of kids assigned to clean our cells.”

“Kids?”

“The one claims to be about thirteen years old. According to them, most people don’t make it too far into their twenties before they become too frail to move. With the machines broken, the surviving children and teenagers are doing most of the manual labor. In any case, one of them got me in contact with my CMO and a couple other members of my crew. I don’t think they’re especially organized, but with a little instruction, they may be able to bring the whole place down.”

Pike nodded, a faint smile stretching his lips for the first time since she’d arrived. “Never underestimate the power of teenagers. What’s in it for them?”

Una sighed. “The kids are no freer than we are, and they don’t expect to live long enough to become the elders who make all the decisions. They’re dying, Chris.” She sat still with him a little longer. “If we’re going to take advantage, you have to get your strength back. Will you eat something?”

Pike nodded. Una left him, found an unnaturally fresh egg salad sandwich and carrot sticks sitting on the table beside Vina, and carried it to Pike. She supposed that since they all knew that they existed in an illusion, such niceties as refrigeration were unnecessary. He ate the sandwich slowly and dutifully, without relish, leaving the plate on the bed, where it ceased to exist as soon as he was no longer interacting with it. It seemed to her that whoever controlled this illusion was growing lazy. She filed the observation for future use.


	20. Everything Stays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mariah arrives off Talos to release the satellite array. Kirk is suffering the effects of several days without his bondmate.

The Mariah crossed an invisible line in space and halted there, dropping out of warp to hang motionless, at least relative to the nearest stars. Her crew of six did not meet on the bridge, as the bridge was barely bigger than a shuttle cockpit. Instead, they gathered around the large table at the aft end of the common room, drinking replicated coffee and receiving their next round of orders from Captain Burnham.

Kirk forced himself to sit up and look like he cared. Objectively, this was the critical moment they had been waiting for. They were close enough to Talos to release T’Pring and Uhura’s r-neutrino diverting satellites, but far enough to be out of range of the Talosian illusions. After five days, it was finally time to do something. But his usual focus was absent. His mind idled, his usual energy nowhere to be found.

Burnham looked to the two women. “Uhura, T’Pring, are the packages ready to release?”

“Aye,” Uhura responded. She frequently spoke for both of them as T’Pring, a gifted programmer, but not accustomed to space travel or military hierarchies, wasn’t comfortable inserting herself into the chain of command. The two women’s easy intimacy failed even to make Kirk jealous; it merely added another layer of gray to his foggy brain.

“Do so, as soon as we’re done here. Mr. Scott, pilot us in to Talosian orbit after the satellite screen is in place.”

“Aye,” Scott confirmed.

She turned to Bones. “Dr. McCoy, what are your plans for collecting a Talosian for biometric analysis?”

“We know the Talosians live underground, but that they had plans to use humans to assist them in recolonizing the surface. Our best bet is to catch one outside. Scotty’s made some changes, with Uhura’s help, to the sensor arrays that should give us the ability to scan any underground living areas that are within ten meters of the surface,” McCoy paused for a moment, giving Scotty a chance to cut in. His attention wandered to Kirk again, checking up on him, he supposed. He didn’t acknowledge the older man’s attention.

“Depending on the overlying rock,” Scotty clarified.

“Captain Kirk,” Burnham said.

It took him just a beat too long to register that she was speaking to him. “As soon as we get scans, I’ll need a map I can use to determine where Sp-” he twitched his head, “Spock and I should beam down.” Despite his intentions, he had done little planning, and none he expected not to scrap entirely. He found himself unable to hold enough pieces of information in mind at a time to put them together.

“What do you plan to do then?”

“I think, unless we get better information from the scans, we should beam down as near a concentration of humans as we can.” He felt like he was speaking from underwater. “We’ll wake Spock inside Sickbay and transport to the surface. I’ll stay in contact as long as I can.” 

Burnham added, “One last thing. Adept T’Pau informs me that the Talosians had to take drastic measures to create a link with Spock when they were here last.”

“Drastic measures?” Kirk asked.

“They knocked him out with a rock, broke through his mental shields to create the link, then returned him to the landing party. It took three of them to overpower him. The memory was replaced with the illusion that he had fallen, but they didn’t cover it well enough to keep T’Pau from finding it. What this tells us is that shielding will at least slow them down, so don’t get sloppy. Kirk, T’Pring, let the rest of us know if we’re slipping.”

“Yes, Captain Burnham,” T’Pring said.

“Anything else?” She waited for a response. “All right, Mr. Scott, Lt. Uhura, T’Pring, you’re dismissed. “Captain Kirk, Dr. McCoy, accompany me to sickbay.”

Kirk levered himself out of his chair to follow her to sickbay, Bones following behind. He closed the door behind them. Burnham turned to them both. “Kirk, I know you’re having a tough time, but you have got to get your head in the game.”

Kirk leaned against the nearest surface only to find he’d gravitated to Spock’s stasis chamber. “I know.” His hands wanted to ball into fists. He forced them to relax, wiped his sweaty palms down the front of his uniform. What could he tell her? He knew he was getting Spock back as soon as tomorrow--at least for as long as they lived after that. He quashed that thought. With him unavailable it was all he could do to eat, and bathe and fulfill minimal social requirements. He had known that the bond going dormant would be hard, and would hurt. He’d functioned through hurt before, and grief that would incapacitate most people. What he hadn’t realized was how much he relied on Spock as a buffer between himself and everyone else while he learned to control this stupid thing in his head. He had been a soft place to fall.

“It’s not just a matter of will, Captain Burnham,” Bones reminded them both. “Stubborn fool’s neurotransmitters are all over the place. And there’s only so much I can do to stabilize him with medications.”

“Can he do the job we brought him here for?” It should bother Kirk that Bones and Captain Burnham had started talking over him as if he weren’t there. He barely cared.

“I can do the job,” Kirk forced out through gritted teeth.

Bones shook his head. “You’re all over the place, Jim. You’re falling into the furniture hard enough that you’re covered with bruises. You don’t answer half the time when people talk to you, and half of the rest you answer when people didn’t talk to you. It’s like you’re not all here, and you’ve lost a lot of the coping strategies you learned at Gol.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding all over the place. Isn’t he?” Bones said, directing the last at Burnham.

Burnham looked him up and down. “Oh yeah, definitely. I thought it was just the depressed body language I was picking up on, but I think you’re right.”

Kirk sighed and made an effort to wrap his shields tighter, which made the comforting wash of blue beside him fade so he felt even more empty. He had been using Bones for support again and hadn’t even known it. “Sorry, Bones,” he said.

“I’m going to try to stabilize his neurotransmitters,” Bones said to Burnham. “Let me know when we make orbit.”

“Will do, doctor.” She made no move to leave.

“We’re fine here,” Bones said.

Burnham crossed her arms. “A few years ago, I was on a ship that lost a doctor because he thought he’d be fine taking care of an emotionally compromised patient without backup.” She looked pointedly at Kirk. “The patient killed him.”

Bones rounded on her. “Jim’s depressed and suffering from a bad case of Vulcan voodoo…”

“Don’t insult both sides of my heritage at the same time.”

“Sorry, ah, mind-stuff. I have known Jim for years. I have handled him when he was actively homicidal. Please. Trust me on this.” He paused again. “Look, I’ve been alone with him numerous times over the past several days. You were never this worried about it until now.”

Burnham looked around the tiny sickbay, her gaze softening. “You know, you’re right. I think the fact we’re in sickbay, it just brought back associations.” She walked to the door. “I guess the stress is getting to all of us.” She left sickbay, but didn’t close the door.

Kirk let himself slide to the floor with his back against the side of Spock’s stasis tube. Bones slid down beside him, too close. He wanted to fall into the arms that had comforted him so many times before, but it wasn’t fair to Bones. Or Spock. He wasn’t a safe person to be around anymore and he had to get used to it. Kirk slid a conscientious half meter away, out of the nimbus of Bones’ twilight aura. 

Bones scooted back next to him. “I sat where I did on purpose. Stop treating me like I’m made of glass. You need the contact.”

Kirk couldn’t deny the fact without lying. He was acutely aware of the scarce centimeter or two separating their upper arms. Bones fizzed next to him. “I have to keep going. I can’t let them win.”

“I’m going to put my arm around you. Don’t think I don’t know the consequences.”

Kirk sighed in defeat. “I can only hold you out for maybe fifteen seconds.”

“Don’t try.” Kirk could hear the click when Bones swallowed.

Bones’ arm settled around Kirk’s back and pulled him in so his head rested in the crook of his shoulder. He ached so badly for that simple comfort, but it was never simple anymore. He couldn’t have Bones’ arms around him without dissolving into that whirl of blue that was more real to him, anymore, than the solid body that carried it around. Everything he did around anyone had to be orchestrated, thought out, hell, apologized for, like he took up more of his share of space and shit, now he was falling again, ten seconds was all he got?

“It’s OK, let go. I’m here.”

Kirk’s breath left him in a rush. Bones fought down that involuntary spike of panic that used to grip Kirk before he’d gotten used to Spock being in his head all the time. It took a second of uncontrolled tumbling for Kirk to realize that he had to attend a little differently, Bones’ rhythm was not the same as Spock’s so he had to focus just...so. He pulled them back to their bodies, for Bones’ sake. And they were back on the cold floor, but their thoughts flowed together like warm honey and that wasn’t bad at all. Not at all.

Kirk with Bones felt like the first gulp of air after nearly drowning, even if Bones was still nervously pushing at the edges of their rapport like he wasn’t quite comfortable but didn’t want to break anything. To his surprise, Bones started to hum, almost to himself, the music settling something in them both. He paused a moment, then continued aloud in his soft tenor. “...Everything stays right where you left it, everything stays but it still changes ever so slightly, daily and nightly....”

The song wrapped softly around them both, melancholy and sweet, and when it ended Kirk said, _I wish you sang more often._

Bones shrugged off the compliment. “Used to sing it to Joanna when she was a baby. Seemed right for the occasion.”

Kirk found his voice. “Everything stays, huh.”

“You and me. And Spock, him too. I’m not going anywhere as long as there’s breath in me. You can’t change enough to push me away.”

And damn it if Bones hadn’t found a way to say that so Kirk couldn’t accuse him of lying because they couldn’t lie like this, all wrapped up in each other’s heads. Bones caught the sentiment. _And don’t you ever forget I’m smarter than you, peach._

 _If I’m a peach, you’re a plum_ , Kirk teased back. 

Bones snorted a laugh. _Heck if I don’t feel a little drunk._

Kirk caught Bones’ amusement and bent over to chuckle, felt the cold metal side of Spock’s container where his shirt rode up behind him, and choked on the laugh, dissolving into sobs.

He leaned into Bones for a while longer, purging himself of his tears. When his frustration spent itself, he wiped his face with his sleeve. _How long till we get to wake him up?_

_If all goes well, about twelve hours. Vulcan addict._

_You have no idea._ Kirk scooted away from Bones, letting their rapport thin out the way he did with Spock, though maybe with a bit less innuendo. Strangely, just like with Spock, even after he stood up and dusted his pants and Bones hauled himself to his feet, a bit of Bones stayed behind. And if he was still shrouded in gray, it was a lighter gray.

*

Kshir and Urey’s uniforms vanished along with little Daseh and they were back in the same naked boat they’d been in before. The fire heating their hut went out shortly thereafter, leading Urey to speculate aloud about their captor’s reading habits. “It’s not like there’s only one bed,” Kshir noted.

Urey collected all but one layer of furs off the floor, holding one of the furs around his waist, and passed the rest to Kshir, who wrapped one around her body and handed the rest back to him. “I have a lower body mass,” she said, “But I have fur and you don’t. I can handle a little chill. It’s the boredom that’s killing me.”

The hut grew colder. Kshir scooted closer to Urey. “This means nothing,” she said, not to Urey but to the ceiling of their hut, as though Urlon or whoever was controlling this illusion cared. She was getting hungry.

There was a knock on the door to their hut. “Daseh?” Kshir said.

“I want to take you up to the surface.” Daseh said.

“Not like you’re going to give us a choice,” Urey snapped.

There was a sound not unlike a sigh from the other side of the door. “Put these on. They are real.” A thin arm tossed a wad of pale, shimmering fabric through the door.

Kshir slipped the silky fabric over her head and passed the second robe to Urey. It was much too small for him and did not stretch much. He settled for tying it around his waist like a loincloth. The hut shimmered around them. There was a sort of sickening, tilting feeling for a moment, and she and Urey found themselves crouched together in an unfurnished room with walls cut from the rock, much like their cells, but lacking bedding.

“I am supposed to be cleaning up after you right now. Follow me, quickly.” The slight alien tapped a couple of buttons on the side of their enclosure and the glass panel slid to the side. Kshir exited first, followed by Urey, who tugged unhappily at his makeshift clothing, one hand gripping the slippery fabric at his waist.

Daseh pursed its lips at the sight of Urey’s state of undress. It walked briskly through the corridor and around a corner to a set of closed doors, then tapped a code into a panel on the wall. Kshir followed it into the lift when the doors opened, Urey behind her.

When the lift doors opened on the spare landscape of the surface of Talos, Kshir barely bothered to register what she saw until she sampled the light, chilly wind. It smelled of grass pollen, sandy soil, and a hint of ozone that suggested recent rain. Satisfied that they were actually outdoors, Kshir took a step forward to look around. A small, plain shelter sat in the middle of a partially cleared field. In the distance, machines sat idle among the stones.

“This way.” Daseh approached the building. “I may be able to tap into the local frame…” it said. It stared off into middle distance briefly, then turned back to look at them. “It would be best if your perceptions remain unaltered. I fear I will be detected if I attempt to add you to the set of illusions the other humans experience here.”

“I’d rather see things as they are,” Kshir said. “Most humanoids find the prospect of telepathic contact occurring without their consent to be deeply disturbing.”

Daseh dipped its head and turned away from them to approach the door to the small swelling. Kshir followed. Next to her, Urey shivered. Daseh looked back at him, but turned back to the door and knocked, then stepped backwards.

A woman in late middle age opened the door. Her hair was unkempt, her face was scarred, and one arm was slightly shorter than the other. “Who are you and what are you wearing?” she demanded. After a pause, she added, “Well, don’t just stand there on the porch. Come inside.”

They crossed the threshold. Sitting on a rock placed in front of a rough-hewn table, drinking a glass of blue liquid, was Captain Una. Beside her, a human male, gaunt and wearing a gown even more flimsy than her own robe, sipped at a similar glass. “Commander Kshir, you are out of uniform,” the captain said. She took in the presence of Lieutenant Urey and Daseh. “What are you doing here?”

Kshir stood straighter. “It was this or appear before you naked. The robe we were given does not fit the Lieutenant. Captain Una, Lieutenant Isaiah Urey of the USS Celeste.”

“Who is this?” the man in the gown snapped, looking from Kshir to Daseh. Daseh took a half step backwards.

Una held up a hand. “This is Daseh, one of the young Talosians I told you about. How is the rib?”

Daseh looked almost frantically from Kshir to Una, then said, “Kshir. Commander Kshir, I ask pardon, but I have no voice you could hear.”

It took Kshir a moment to figure out why Daseh would have said that, of all things. “Oh. No, Daseh,” she corrected. “We do make exceptions for species that cannot communicate vocally.”

“I wish to form an alliance,” Daseh said, more boldly. “I did not wish to begin by continuing to act in a way that would offend you.” It paused. He or she...paused?

Kshir filled the pause. “May I ask if you have a gender?”

Daseh tilted its head slightly. “Oh. Different kinds. For making babies. No. We all come out of uterine replicators.”

Una waved in the direction of a grouping of flat topped stones. Kshir wondered what the captain saw, but took a seat. Daseh and Urey remained standing, Urey keeping any complaints he might have to himself. “Commander, report.”

“I have been held in various conditions over the last few weeks. I am aware that Ensign Chou made it to the surface, but have not seen her in some time. I have encountered Daseh several times over the past few days. Xe says xe is responsible for keeping a block of cells clean.”

Daseh nodded confirmation. “It was punishment for sneaking out of the dormitory to see humans. I am inappropriately curious.”

Una continued to question Daseh. “What did you hope to achieve by bringing my crew here?”

Daseh’s face changed little, but xer “voice” was hesitant. “I am old enough to know that what is happening here is wrong. But I am young enough that I do not want to starve or freeze when the last of the machines break.”

Una responded to that last with narrowed eyes. “How do I know you aren’t just another trick to get us to cooperate?”

Daseh looked at the ground. “You don’t. I don’t even know. My actions may be known by the elders, and permitted in the hope that they will lead to your cooperation.”

“They won’t.”

“She,” the Talosian gestured toward Kshir with one arm, “trusts you to make decisions for the captives here. I will trust you as well. How do we save all of our lives?”

Una nodded firmly. “Then you accept me as your commanding officer?”

Daseh regarded her briefly. “Yes.”

“Rid us of this illusion, so that we may converse as equals.”

Daseh frowned. “I cannot. It is not my illusion to break. You are being viewed by many elders, though Kshir, Urey, and I are not being observed directly.”

“Is there any way to have a private conversation in this place?” Una asked, more out of frustration, it seemed, than in the expectation that there would be a real answer.

Daseh’s expression could have been interpreted as a shrug. “I will try to…” xe said, but her words were swallowed up by a shimmering whine and a wash of gold sparkles.

Una regarded the place where the small alien had stood. “That was impressive. I guess her minders decided that playtime was over.”

Urey looked from one woman to the other, still hunched against the chilly air, one hand still gripping the robe he had tied around his waist. “Then why are we still here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song mentioned in the text is Rebecca Sugar's Everything Stays, which I hope can be accessed here.   
>  https://youtu.be/pozDLjFUVbM
> 
> I cried when I wrote that scene. Because I'm a sap.


	21. Boots on the Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCoy examines the Talosian he beamed to the Mariah's sickbay, Spock is awakened, and they beam down tot he surface of Talos.

“Entering standard orbit around Talos IV,” Kirk said. He was serving as helmsman, Bones having cleared him for what should be a straightforward duty. He checked the screen and sensors. “USS Celeste in view orbiting the planet. USS Yorktown is nowhere to be seen.”

“Acknowledged. Scan for life forms, human and Talosian. Initiate mapping scan.”

“Aye, Captain,” he and Uhura said in unison. Kirk took the surface scans, while Uhura was in charge of the trickier subsurface mapping.

“I have a group of six humanoids very near the location of the Enterprise’s first beam down point. Three human or very close cognates, one Caitian, one I don’t have records for. Mass about thirty-five kilos. Probably a Talosian.”

“What luck!” Captain Burnham smiled grimly. “Bridge to sickbay.”

“McCoy here.”

“We’ve got a Talosian on the surface. Are you prepared to receive?”

“I am. I’d like Kirk down here to assist me. I shouldn’t be alone when we bring them aboard.”

“We’ll be in sickbay in sixty seconds. Mr. Scott, beam the Talosian directly to sickbay. Uhura, you have the conn.”

“I have the conn,” she repeated back.

Kirk followed Burnham aft. McCoy stood at a bank of controls abutting the clear enclosure into which the Talosian was to be placed. Burnham and Kirk flanked him. A figure materialized in a shower of singing gold sparkles. It was surprisingly small.

“One Talosian beamed directly to sickbay,” Scott said. “You have him?”

“I’ve got them,” McCoy confirmed. “Little thing.”

“Aye. 34.2 kilos.”

The Talosian stood in the center of the enclosure in a swirl of pale yellow, fists clenched, arms straight at their sides, eyes flicking from McCoy, to Burnham, to Kirk and back again. Their breathing, quick and slightly labored, made their terror obvious even it weren’t washing up against’s Kirk’s shields. They pushed at Kirk, testing those shields, questioning, but backed off after a moment. Bones looked them in the eye and said, “Stop that.” The creature flinched. 

Kirk turned to Burnham. “They trying to get at you, too?”

“Only the once. Seems less hostile than I expected.”

“They’re scared out of their wits,” Bones clarified. He consulted the readout on his screen. “So, biochemistry is actually pretty close to human, except for the outsized cerebral cortex. Looks like mostly specialized antenna complex structures.” He scrolled to another section. “Nominally female anatomy, reproductive structures vestigial, as is the larynx. Twenty teeth. Fontanelles open, no surprise there. Epiphyses of the long bones are still cartilaginous.” He paused. “Now that’s interesting. The other neotenic features we see in a lot of species that have been technological for a long time, but the bones of the limbs always ossify before the end of chilldhood. Either Talosians are neotenic as hell, or this one is a preadolescent. Ten to twelve years old.”

Burnham regarded the small Talosian critically. “What would a kid be doing on the surface?”

“Who knows. Kids do all kinds of things their parents don’t know about,” Kirk said. “Didn’t you?” He stepped a little closer. The Talosian flinched again, but held their ground. “Vestigial vocal cords,” Kirk said. “Stun me if I start acting like I’m not myself.”

Burnham pulled her phaser. Bones shook his head. “Of all the damn fool…”

“I just want to see if I can talk to her.” He thought it unlikely that a little kid could overpower him. There was the possibility that others might be able to reach him through the kid, though the rest of the Talosians shouldn’t be aware of their presence yet if the inhibiting satellites were working.

“How about I finish these scans and we drop her back where she came from, like we planned.” Bones turned back to his screen. “Funny, you’d think she’d have tried something else by now.”

“It would be prudent to test your psi inhibiting gas on the subject before returning her to the surface,” Burnham said.

Bones stood his ground. “I am not using a kid as a research subject. ” He shook his head. The Talosian trembled, having fixed her gaze on Bones. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Kirk thought a hole in his shield, not unlike the conduit he used to keep his link with Spock easily accessible, trying to guess from the creature’s aura what shape it ought to be. “What’s your name?” he said, aloud for Burnham and Bones’s benefit. What if they didn’t have separate names?

“I did not give you permission to contact the creature,” Burnham said. 

The Talosian turned to face Kirk, but it was another few seconds before he felt the Talosian reach back to form a tentative connection between them. “Daseh,” the Talosian said, sounding almost as though she were speaking aloud. “Where am I?”

“They want to know where they are, understandably. I’m asking the questions for now,” he told the Talosian. “Why were you on the surface with a group of humans?”

She replied, “I took Kshir and Urey to the surface to be with the other humans. I thought they might be able to help each other.”

“Two of the people on the surface are a Kshir and a Urey,” he reported. “Why?” 

“I want the humans to be free. It is wrong that the elders are using them for entertainment.” He wasn’t detecting deceit, but the contact was light, and the child, even at her age, was probably more practiced at hiding their intentions than he was.

“Who are the elders?”

“When you can’t move anymore, the young ones take care of you and you become an elder. Most of the elders dream all day, but some of them use the amplifier and tell everyone else what to do. They punish you if you disobey.”

“And you don’t agree with the elders?”

“I don’t know. They say humans aren’t really people, but they feel like people. And they don’t like being toys anymore than we do.”

“Toys?”

“The elders said they wanted the humans to fix the machines so we won’t all die. But some of the humans won’t cooperate, so the elders are just playing with them.”

Burnham interrupted to ask Kirk, “Care to summarize for the rest of us?”

“Right, apparently there’s a generational divide of some kind. The elders have all the power, but they’re too frail to move. They make the younger ones do what they say using some kind of psionic amplification device. Which would make a lot of sense. Remember that T’Pau said the Talosians range was much to great for unaided corporeal life forms?”

“It was in the report,” Burnham said. “If the amplifier could be destroyed, perhaps in their natural state the Talosians would not be a threat.”

Bones interrupted. “I’d like to get some more detailed medical scans from inside the enclosure. Captain?” Burnham nodded. Bones opened the door to the enclosure. “May I examine you?”

Daseh watched Bones warily as he entered. Kirk caught his attention. “Bones, you’re scaring her. Can I patch you in through our link so she can at least talk to you?”

Bones folded his arms and looked at the floor for a minute. “Fine,” he said, irritably. Kirk caught the edge of their link just enough to allow him to hear Daseh’s “voice” without compromising his shields. 

Daseh looked from Kirk to Bones and back. “What are you going to do?”

“I just want to see how healthy you are. My machines are telling me you have a lot of illnesses.”

Daseh allowed McCoy to lead her to the biobed inside the enclosure, saying, “I look better than most of my age-mates.” It was meant to be proud, but McCoy winced instead and took another set of scans. “May I look at your legs, Daseh?”

She assented, and McCoy lifted the edge of her robe to just above her knees, revealing the way the bones bowed outward. “Talosian physiology isn’t all that far removed from human. This is rickets, caused by Vitamin D deficiency. She also shows signs of several other vitamin deficiencies and insufficient dietary protein.”

“The food machines are mostly broken,” Daseh volunteered. “Why do you refer to me as female?”

“Your anatomy is closer to female than male, so we guessed.”

“We don’t have males and females. We’re all the same.” Bones acknowledged xer clarification with a nod and continued his examination.

Bones reached into a drawer and pulled out a blanket to tuck around xer shoulders. “How old are you, then?”

Xe clutched the blanket with thin, pale fingers. “Thirteen years. Twelve to sixteen are responsible for washing and feeding elders. I was assigned to clean the human enclosures as a punishment.”

Bones relayed the information to Burnham, who said, “Have xer name the other humans xe has seen.”

Kirk relayed the question. Daseh paused to think. “I don’t know all of their names. A woman named Una. A man named Pike. A doctor Hasan. An engineer, Porter. A nurse, Milosc.” 

Bones tapped a few more keys and one of the machines along the wall whirred. He plucked an ampule out of a small opening in the wall and fitted it into a hypospray. “This is a vitamin solution. It won’t help right away, but it will make you healthier.” He pressed the hypo to Daseh’s throat.

Daseh flinched, but recovered. “Doctor Hasan gave me vitamins, too. You humans are fond of vitamin shots.”

Bones told Kirk and Burnham, “If xe falls, xe could easily die of the injuries xe sustained. Xer bones are thin and brittle, xer blood is low in clotting factors, xer injuries don’t heal quickly or well, and that head...if xe’s typical I’d estimate that we could kill a third of them outright, before we even consider consider the effect of silencing all their interpersonal bonds.”

Daseh had clearly understood most of that exchange. “Please don’t…” xe said.

“And since it sounds like the majority of the Talosians we’d be using it against are kids and teenagers…” Kirk noted.

“I’m not comfortable with this part of the plan,” McCoy finished.

“Your discomfort is noted.” Burnham turned to the Talosian. “We want to free the humans and help you all stay alive. Will you help us?”

Daseh looked up at her. “I already told Commander Kshir and Captain Una I would follow their orders.”

Surprise flickered across Burnham’s face. “I see. Captain Una and I are the same rank in Starfleet. Will you follow my orders?”

“I don’t know.” She turned to Kirk. “I will follow his.”

“That will do. You mentioned an amplifier. What does it do?”

“It allows hundreds of minds to work together, and makes them more powerful, so they can punish you or make you see what they wish you to see and you can’t make them stop.”

“What does this amplifier look like? Where is it?” Burnham’s questions grew more urgent.

“It’s…” Daseh blinked. “Can I show you?”

Burnham shook her head and indicated Kirk. “Show him. He’s the one going planetside.”

“Oh.”

There was a light, polite tap on his shield and Kirk dismissed it. Light strobed for a moment in front of his eyes, then it wasn’t so much that Kirk saw the way to the amplifier as that he knew where it was as if he’d known it forever. The entire underground complex was as familiar to him as his home town in Iowa. “Thank you,” he said.

“I am very good at directions,” Daseh noted proudly. “You won’t kill the elders, will you?”

Kirk couldn’t tell xem no with any certainty. “I will try very hard not to kill anyone.”

The comm link chimed. “Is the Captain in sickbay?”

“Both of them are,” McCoy said, rolling his eyes.

“I have the mass driver on screen. It’s sweeping the outer system,” Uhura’s voice was blandly professional over the comlink. Four days early. They were supposed to have had more time.

“Dr. McCoy, we need to wake Spock now. Finish up with Daseh.” Burnham turned to Kirk. “I want you to take gas canisters down with you along with the antidote and gas masks. Don’t use it unless you have to.”

“Understood.”

“Give Scotty your beam down coordinates.”

“Yes, Captain,” he agreed. He was going to see Spock again. His entire body tingled with anticipation at the thought. Daseh stared at him openly. “Don’t pry, it’s not appropriate for kids. Captain Burnham, will you take Daseh to the common room? It’s not a good idea for xem to be here when Spock wakes up.”

“I will take xem to T’Pring,” Burnham said. McCoy released xem from the enclosure. Burnham led xem out of sickbay.

It was just the three of them. McCoy, Kirk, and Spock, still in his biostasis coffin. Kirk couldn’t bring himself to step away from the chamber itself, so he slid himself along it to allow McCoy to access the controls. “You okay, Jim?”

“I’m fine. Just thinking through what we’re going to do next. Daseh gave me the name of a friend of xers, an Epol. I’m going to suggest we bring Daseh with us and contact Epol first, then we’re going to take out that amplifier. I’m going to need some explosives.” He tapped the comlink to tell Scotty to collect several charges.

Halfway through the defrosting sequence, Bones popped the cover of the chamber open. Kirk restrained himself from climbing in with Spock. “Can I touch him?”

Bones pressed his lips into a line. “Above the waist.”

Kirk protested, “Bones!” He stroked Spock’s pale cheek. It was no longer ice cold, but was still cool.

“Give it another minute, he’ll be coming around shortly. Remind him of where he is and what he’s supposed to be doing. You’re going to have to be the adult in the room.”

He hoped he would be capable. His skin itched. He resisted the urge to adjust his pants. The bond flooded open first, before Spock was able to move. He gripped Spock’s wrists, his hands being too risky a choice, and for just a moment, allowed them to crash together, Spock confused by his paralysis and clawing almost frantically at Kirk’s mind, while Kirk rode out his partner’s panic and disorientation, overlaying his own fragile calm over them both.

He nearly forgot what he was doing and kissed him and would have if not for the restraining hand on his shoulder. “Let go, I’ll be good,” he told Bones, who took a step back. “I don’t know how he’s going to react to seeing you.”

Spock finally opened his eyes and sat up. Kirk looked down at himself, then deliberately did not look at Bones. He was going to have to deal with _that_ for the duration. Fine. He’d completed missions with worse. He decided that arousal and nausea were not his favorite combination of sensations. Spock held up a hand, positioned for an _ozh’esta._ Kirk gripped his shoulders instead. “The mission, Spock. Remember? We need to get Pike back.”

Spock blinked. Kirk allowed their bond to expand so he could assess Spock’s condition. As Spock warmed and woke, his skin had begun to burn and his genitals swelled uncomfortably, feeling more bee stung than pleasantly aroused. He swallowed queasiness, snatched an emesis basin, and held it for Spock, who gagged on nothing for a miserable thirty seconds before getting control of himself.

He could feel Spock’s agitation almost as though it were his own, but only almost. They would have to rely on that slight bit of distance, Kirk’s ability to remain lucid, if they had any hope of success. Spock’s vision was slightly blurred, and the sound of his own blood moving swished in his ears. “Is his blood pressure elevated?” Kirk asked. 

“Not dangerously, yet,” Bones said.

Spock turned toward Bones and growled. He burrowed, less than gently, into Kirk’s mind, found the blue, glowing link--bond, perhaps?--connecting Kirk and Bones to each other and threw himself at Bones. Kirk leaned into him to stop him, glad that he was still weak from stasis. “My brother. And yours,” he reminded, running soothing hands down Spock’s arms. Spock looked at him, eyes large, liquid, and feral.

Kirk helped him climb out of the stasis tube and walked him out of Sickbay. They’d have to figure out what to do about Bones later. For now, Kirk stopped at the doorway to the transporter room. “Commander Spock!” he said.

Spock met his eyes, pupils wide, but focused on his face.

“Good. We have a mission. We are going down to Talos, we are going to blow up a psionic amplifier, and we are going to get our people back. Clear?”

He held his bondmate firmly by the shoulders, breathing with him. Kirk felt Spock bring himself under control. “Quite clear, Captain,” A current of impatience flowed between them, held just in check.

“Good. Now, we have an ally. A Talosian. You will perceive xem as child, not a rival. You will not attack xem, is that understood?” He backed up every word with the force of his will.

“Yes sir.”

Kirk turned to Scotty. “Where is Daseh?”

“Here,” the Talosian said. Xe studied Spock, worry lines creasing xer brow. “Is he ill?”

“Sort of,” Kirk said.

“Captain. I have been located. I feel…” Spock squeezed his eyes shut. Kirk grabbed his hand, immediately felt the foreign presence sliding through the weak points in Spock’s shields, and shaped his own to block them, cultivating outrage that they would use him in this way. The presence withdrew.

“Get us down to the surface, now.” Kirk listed the coordinates he had chosen, a disused kitchen Daseh used as a hideout. He led Spock and Daseh onto the transporter pad. Scott checked the coordinates, slid the control levers down, and vanished from view, along with the rest of the transporter room.

They materialized in a dusty room lined with cupboards. Long tables filled the center of the space. Daseh gestured for them to follow, crossing the room to a corner door. Kirk followed, but had to backtrack and collect Spock. “Get out,” Spock rasped. He turned to Kirk. “They are...images of you…”

“I’m here, I’m fine.” He caught a flash of the illusion being forced into Spock’s mind, himself, still standing in front of him, but blood pouring from his eyes and nose. “Stay away from my Spock!” he yelled, the words echoing around the disused kitchen, anchoring the image he made in his mind of shoving back at the intruding Talosians. He dragged Spock along by an elbow, following Daseh into a narrow, dimly lit corridor. Spock released his controls and Kirk’s heart jittered in response, but their combined anger pushed back at their attackers more successfully than his solo attempt had done.

They rounded a bend. Another small Talosian hobbled toward Daseh. Xe wrapped xer arms around the other briefly and turned xem to face Kirk and Spock. “This is Epol. Xe will help us.”

Epol bowed slightly at the neck. “I am assigned to clean elders’ rooms. I have seen the machine that gives the elders their power.”

Without warning, the four of them were plunged into deep, icy water. Kirk struggled to breathe. Spock’s hand had been torn away from him and it was too dark to see, but the strength of their contact had not changed. He recognized the illusion in a moment. The Talosians could not affect his communication with Spock. They could not interfere with the bond. If his senses could not be trusted, he would abandon them for a moment to rebuild his shields. He had no link to the two Talosians, so had to trust that they could help themselves.

He shifted his focus back to the fire in his mind, Spock burning for him, reaching for him with ribbons of thought and desire. _I’m here_ , Kirk told him, pulling them into the deepest rapport he could manage and still walk. Spock moved with him, down and through the breath to stand beside him and inside him. All that dancing practice was coming in handy. The Talosians still presented their illusions, moving now from ice to fire, but they were endurable. Kirk and Spock could feel that they were painful, but at a remove, not as pain itself but as the memory of pain, and they could still see the walls of the corridor and feel the floor beneath their feet. Epol and Daseh staggered forward just ahead of them, arms wrapped around each other. 

They made slow, but steady progress, Kirk leading Spock like an overtired child. Their meld tipped Spock over into irrationality and fever, and he kept reaching forward to grab at Kirk’s clothes, Kirk having to override his impulses, to the point of firmly gripping both of Spock’s hands in his own to still them. Spock rumbled ominously in his chest..

“Daseh,” he said. Both Talosians turned. It appeared they had used the same technique, combining their strength to fight off the elders’ illusions.

He closed his eyes, pushing the image of the amplifier forward, marking it with his best guess as to the best places to set charges. He pulled off the satchel of explosives and handed them to Daseh. “Place one cylinder in each spot. Set them all after you have placed them, then get at least two layers of rock between you and the amplifier, fast. Understand?”

Daseh indicated xer understanding with rapid fire images, the explosives placed on the machine, Daseh and Epol running through a set of doors and crouching behind a thick stone wall.

Xe doubled over suddenly, overcome by who knew what punishment, but recovered enough to crawl forward, supported by Epol. The attacks were only going to get worse. Spock clutched at him, trying to drag him to the floor. His shirt tore off his shoulder. Spock pressed his cheek to the bare skin, derailing Kirk’s train of thought and letting the crowd of Talosians get a foothold, sending bizarre and conflicting signals through his body, as if they had not decided what punishment to unleash on them. He forced himself to focus. They needed a distraction, something that would fully occupy the elders pressing in on his and Spock’s minds. They were going to have to put on a show.

“Daseh, Epol, out of here, quickly. We can buy you a few minutes.”


	22. Unorthodox Tactics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirk and Spock provide a distraction the Talosians can't refuse, buying time for Daseh and Epol to attempt to destroy the psionic amplifier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is an instance of technically public sexual activity in this chapter. So you know. Also another mention of Tarsus.
> 
> Smutless summary at the end.

Una expected to be enveloped in a transporter beam immediately, but none came. “Commodore, we have company,” she raised her voice to say.

“Do the Talosians have transporter technology?” Urey asked, still holding the robe around himself. He walked gingerly across the wooden floorboards of the farmhouse and settled himself in one of the kitchen chairs as though he expected it to drop him on the floor at any moment. “I guess Daseh was an illusion all along.” 

Kshir shook her head. “The transport was real. That was Starfleet transporter ionization. I’d recognize the smell anywhere.”

“Can I get you something to eat? Tea? It’s all imaginary, but it doesn’t seem to matter much,” Una said. “Then we can talk about our next steps.”

Kshir shook her head. “What do you see, Captain?”

“We’re inside a farmhouse, upper Midwest, I think, Earth. Sitting at the kitchen table. There are fields outside, some trees and boulders.”

Kshir shook her head. “Urey and I just see the surface of Talos.”

Pike stood so quickly he almost spilled his tea. “You do? Do you think you could find your way to any structures that lead underground?”

Kshir considered. “I believe we could locate them. However, if we go underground, we might be out of range of the transporters, and then we wouldn’t be able to pass any information on to whoever’s up there.”

Vina started for the back door. Urey stepped in her way. She smirked. “You can’t catch me without losing hold of that loincloth, young man.”

He faced her down. “My duty is more important to me than keeping my junk covered.”

Una counted heads, then gave her orders. “Commodore, your physical condition…I don’t think you’re up for a fight if we get into one. Lieutenant Urey, stay here with Commodore Pike and await pickup. Kshir, you’re with me. We’re going to go get our people.” 

She waited for a protest from the commodore, but he merely nodded and said, “My hunger strike appears to have had unanticipated consequences.”

Una regarded Vina for a long moment. “The fact that we’re all still standing here suggests to me that you haven’t yet informed our captors of any of what’s gone on here What’s your game?”

“That’s for me to know, and you to find out,” she said.

Una tried another tack. “You have lived here for, what, thirty-seven years? You have to know this place like the back of your hand. I’m prepared to offer you amnesty for your assistance.”

Vina tossed back her hair. “Can you give me my youth back? Can you give me a normal life?”

“I can only offer the possible.”

“I want Christopher.” She stood closer to him. He shifted his body away.

“You don’t even know Commodore Pike.” Una started for the door. “Stay here then. I’m sure our people up there will be thrilled to see you. Commander Kshir,” Una turned and walked out the door into the late afternoon sunshine reflecting off the grass of a meadow that wasn’t there.

“Aye.” Kshir quickened her steps to walk beside her.

“You’ll have to lead me.”

Kshir nodded. “This way.”

*

Spock clung to his arm. It took most of his strength to keep the stronger man from pulling him to the ground. Spock buried his face in Kirk’s neck, lips too hot against his skin. Kirk dragged Spock back the way they had come, away from Daseh and Epol, looking for a door he remembered from the map in his mind’s eye. It swung free, the latch having broken long enough ago for the parts to rust.

This room, like many others in Daseh’s mental map, had once held six elders on their couches, but was now empty. The force on Kirk and Spock’s combined shield increased, more elders pressing into the effort to immobilize them. They had stopped trying to force pain onto them, and were robbing them of their senses instead, dimming sight, numbing touch, dulling hearing. The stumbled on numb feet. Kirk could feel Spock’s rising panic as the skin contact he craved was taken from him.

He deepened his contact with Spock, wrapping them in a cocoon of warmth. Even in their growing numbers, it seemed the Talosians were unable to touch the bond itself. Spock’s desire poured into him, riding on waves of anger and pain and the shame they had not quite been able to extinguish. _Let’s give them a distraction they won’t be able to refuse,_ he told Spock, seeking the logical Vulcan he knew still existed in there. If his plan were to work, and they were to come out of it with their partnership unbroken, he needed Spock to understand and consent to what they were about to do.

Spock was able to focus on him for a moment, long enough for him to present his plan. He received a quick pulse of agreement. _Don’t let them force the shield down. Let it go._ Kirk encouraged. Spock assented, and let his control go as Kirk released their shields. The Talosian elders poured into their minds. _They can’t make us do anything we don’t choose to do_ , he reminded Spock.

 _You want a show?_ he taunted them, pushing forward images, each one more explicit than the last. When he sensed he had their full attention, he turned his thoughts away from them to Spock.

Spock grabbed urgently, clumsily at his hands, his face, his waist, dragging his shirt up toward his shoulders. His hands were hot against the skin of Kirk’s back. Kirk pulled Spock along with him toward the narrow beds on which elders must have lain. They were far too small to hold even one, much less two full grown men. He pulled the thin mattresses off the three beds nearest them and flung them on the floor, then pulled Spock down to sit next to him. _I’m here, I’m right here, I need you too_ , he projected, a litany of reassurance pouring through the bond. He stroked firmly down Spock’s arms to quell their shaking. Spock, steadied by the contact, pulled Kirk’s uniform shirt up over his head and Kirk returned the favor. They rolled onto their sides, Spock clutching urgently at him. “Jim, I need…”

 _I know what you need. I got you._ Spock responded by burying his face in the angle between Kirk’s neck and shoulder, nuzzling in with his nose and opening his mouth to lick at the soft skin at the base of his throat. His own cock pressed up against the fabric of his pants, responding to the touch and the echo of Spock’s need. It hurt much more than arousal ought to, and Kirk let out a groan. _Let’s get the rest of our kit off._

Spock fumbled with the fastener on his trousers, but his hands shook so much he couldn’t budge it. Anger flared then, a spike of rage that closed Spock’s fist and sent it hurtling toward the hard stone floor, but Kirk was attuned enough to the other man’s body that he was able to capture it in his own hand before Spock could hurt himself. He worked the clenched fingers open to stroke the sensitive half moons of skin where each finger joined the palm. Spock’s heart raced, even for him, anxiety cutting through both their arousal. He curled into a fetal position, his face contorting. Kirk could feel the weight of other minds experiencing along with him and forced himself to ignore their presence.

He tugged off the rest of his clothes, then wrapped himself around Spock, chafing at his arms to relax the muscles. Spock responded with a keening grimace. _Wasn’t strong enough. Didn’t have the control_.

 _We chose this time and place. Remember?_ He grasped Spock by the head, lacing his fingers through his dark hair. Spock met his eyes. Kirk leaned forward, a moment of inspiration bringing a smile to his lips. He leaned in to capture Spock’s bottom lip between his own, then pressed gently but insistently forward, running his tongue into the vestibule in front of the gritted teeth until Spock relaxed enough to open his mouth, then deepened the kiss, running his tongue up toward the psi point in the roof of Spock’s mouth that flushed them both with feelings of peace and safety before. Spock’s muscles relaxed as Kirk worked circles with his tongue. The throbbing pain reflecting from Spock’s genitals increased. Kirk broke off the kiss to trail his hands toward his waistband.

 _I’m going to get your clothes off_ , Kirk told him, _I’m not leaving you._

He wondered how long it had been since Epol and Daseh left to take out the amplifier. Spock raised his hips enough for Kirk to get his pants and underwear down, but dragged him back up between his legs, his cock working against Kirk’s bare stomach. They had not planned to complete their union planetside. Kirk was unprepared, and he didn’t know how Spock in his current mental state would respond to causing him pain. He couldn’t risk him shutting down now. He took a moment to stroke down Spock’s chest, first along the sides so he arched his back upward, beautiful in the false ruddy and amber light that represented their mental contact, then leaned forward to draw one nipple into his mouth, working the other in gentle circles with his fingers. Spock sighed under him, relaxing enough he could shift position to straddle him, facing away, to attend fully to his partner’s straining cock.

He started with gentle strokes, hissing at the agony his touch brought along with pleasure. Pressure, warmth, moisture would help. He brought the natural lubricant up from Spock’s sheath to work into the shaft, squeezing, first gently and then harder, one hand massaging the lower psi point that needed to be in contact if the union were to break his fever. Warm wetness wrapped itself around his own cock. For a moment, he forgot what he was supposed to be doing and lost himself in the ministrations of his lover’s lips and tongue. Spock’s cock twitched, and his hips jerked upward, his mind equally flooded with pleasure and misery. _A little longer,_ he soothed, slowing his movements a little, waiting for some sign the amplifier had been destroyed.

The corridor lights flickered and the weight on their minds abruptly vanished, leaving them alone with each other. _They did it!_

_Please…_

_Now._ He leaned forward to take Spock into his mouth, sucking tight around him, circling his glans with his tongue. It took only seconds to bring him the rest of the way to climax, and his own followed within a beat. They remained embodied for a spare few seconds, riding sensations that rang like monastery bells, rolled vermilion over them, and tasted incongruously of fizzing candies and sea salt, then submerged deep into each other, sinking as quickly as they dared, pressing down past that last vestige of separation that shattered beneath them, so that they merged into a single being.

The bodies rolled apart to lie spent and panting on the thin mattresses. The being who had been Kirk and Spock ensured that they remained in physical contact, Kirk’s head resting on Spock’s thigh. He allowed himself to rest in this state for a moment in love for the ones who made him up. Spock’s fever was broken, and the amplifier presumably destroyed. What remained was to extricate their people and, if they could, disable the mass driver. He could not leave children to burn. Or starve, which would surely happen if the mass driver were disabled, but Starfleet left the Talosians behind, helpless to repair the machines that kept them alive.

He could hear footsteps and urgent voices in the hallway and reluctantly dissolved into his two parts, leaving them woven together for protection from the Talosians’ powers. Kirk rolled away first, Spock sitting up and reaching for him in response, still groggy from the release of hormones. Kirk pulled on his uniform shirt and jammed his legs into his pants. Sorry we had to rush, he told Spock. 

_As you said, we chose the place and time. I am merely gratified that the chances of our surviving the day have improved markedly._ Spock dressed, first clumsily, and then more efficiently. They had both seen cleaner days, especially given how dusty the room was...they were covered in smudges and smears of gray, pale where the dust clung dry to them, darker where it had mixed with sweat and tears and other fluids. Kirk offered him a hand to pull him up.

Spock tugged his tunic straight just as a woman with tangled dark hair in a command gold shirt that had seen better days burst in through the half open door, followed by a Caitian in a Talosian gown. The human woman took in Spock and Kirk’s state and said, “What were you doing, wrestling on the floor?”

Kirk thanked all the deities whose names he could remember that she had not arrived fifteen seconds earlier. Then he looked down at the mattresses laid out on the floor, the dust that would have been on them now all over their clothes, and realized it still didn’t look good.

“Captain Una,” Spock said, coming to the rescue. “You haven’t met my bondmate, Captain James Kirk, of the Enterprise.”

Una crossed her arms. “Kshir, I’m seeing two disheveled Starfleet officers in front of me, one of whom is Commander Spock. Is that what you’re seeing?”

“The human isn’t wearing shoes,” the Caitian said, dryly.

“Correct,” Una replied. “Bondmate?”

“Husband.” Kirk sat back down to pull on his boots. “Our distraction worked. Daseh and her friend appear to have destroyed the psionic amplifier. Our next task is to free our people.”

“What can you tell me about the resources at our disposal?” Una appeared to have taken refuge in strategic conversation.

Kirk felt a pressure at the back of his mind again, sneaky, not forcing, but trying to slide in past his defenses undetected. He wrapped his shield tighter about himself and shook his head. “The walls have ears.”

“Understood. Orders?”

“Spock and I have memorized a map of the underground. Follow us. We’ll get as many to the surface as we can and our people will beam them out.”

He took Spock by the elbow and guided him out of the room. Which way to where their people were held? Left. He chucked his chin in the relevant direction, then jogged down the corridor. Una kept up easily, though Kshir, barefoot on the stone floor, had more difficulty.

They made it several meters down a connecting hallway when he realized Kshir was no longer behind them. “Stay with Spock,” he told Una, then turned and ran back for Kshir. Footsteps slapped on the stone floor, first Spock’s long strides, then after an instant, Una’s quicker steps. They had followed him.

Kshir was standing unseeing in the middle of the corridor, staring at nothing, her hands slapping at the air as though she were swatting invisible insects. It looked like the Talosians were recovering from the shock of losing their amplifier and regaining control of their prisoners. He turned to Spock. “Una and Kshir are undefended. You protect Una, you know her better. I’ll take Kshir.”

“But I need…” Spock said, reaching out to him.

Kirk cut him off with a slicing gesture, but softened his tone at the last second. “That’s an order, Commander. I will be with you soon.”

Spock sucked in a breath and tugged at his uniform. “Understood, Captain. Captain Una, are you aware of any illusions affecting you at present?”

“Not yet.”

“Go on ahead,” he told them.

“Commander Kshir,” he said to her, loud in her ears. She didn’t respond. He grabbed a handful of her robe, just below the shoulder. “Come on!”

She didn’t even stumble after him, just fell against him and slid to the floor. Kirk considered his options, each more untenable than the last. He didn’t want to leave her. He didn’t feel comfortable going in after her. He couldn’t carry her any distance. He had just decided to settle her back inside the room they had just left when a crowd of disheveled and largely naked people hurried down the hall, led by Spock and Una. “Get them to the surface,” he directed.

Spock met his eyes briefly and turned back. “Do you require assistance?”

“Not until you get everyone topside. If Captain Burnham can spare them, I’d like Uhura and T’Pring. They should be able to protect themselves.”

“I will pass on your request.”

Una, trailing behind, called after him. “Spock, they’ve blinded me this time.” Her tone sounded more irritated than frightened.

“I will return,” he said to Jim, taking Una’s arm to lead her around the corner and out of sight. Kirk dragged Kshir back into the room he and Spock had occupied moments before. He was being an idiot. Kshir knew this place, and knew her people and if Spock could help Una with the illusions she was suffering Kirk could do the same for Kshir like he had implied he would do.

“Kshir,” he said. What would Spock do, under the same circumstances? No, this called for something approaching bedside manner. What would _Bones_ do? _Kshir, I’m here. You’re going to be fine._

He shifted, again that need to learn a new mental pattern, harder to catch than Spock’s or Bones’. Different species, he speculated. Kshir was waist deep in cold, slimy bogwater, plagued by a cloud of stinging insects. Kirk studied the pattern of her thoughts for a moment and extended his shield around them both. Their vision cleared. He helped her to her feet.

“Can you walk?” he said, voicing the words.

“I think so. Too many feet.” She stepped on her own feet and stumbled a couple of times, while he held her up. She sensed his amusement. “Don’t laugh at me, I’m trying. I didn’t think humans were…”

“It’s been a hell of a month. Tell you all about it later.”

They turned down the now empty corridor in the direction of the humans’ cells and nearly crashed into a small Talosian. “Daseh?” No. They were hard for his human eyes to tell apart, but this person didn’t feel like Daseh. Xe was chartreuse and more timid.

“Epol,” xe corrected. “Come quickly, Daseh is hurt.”

“Where?” An image, embedded in the map, quickly sent and captured. 

“You follow with Kshir.” He didn’t wait for the little alien’s reply, not given the image that flashed in front of his eyes every time he blinked, of a small figure lying motionless with blood trickling from xer nose. He did take a moment to pass Kshir to Epol, a process roughly analogous to passing a cat’s cradle from one set of hands to another. Kshir, fortunately, let herself be tossed about like a piece of string art without complaint.

When he came upon Daseh, he immediately wished he had brought Bones to the surface with him. It looked like the Talosian had been thrown against a wall in the blast. Xe lay where xe had fallen, blood pooling around xer head. Kirk realized that it was possible this was an illusion, even a trap, and turned his attention to his thankfully intact shields before taking a closer look at Daseh.

The last thing he expected to see was one of the Starfleet captives behind him. The man knelt and pulled out a medical tricorder. “Dr. Siddig Hasan, Yorktown,” the man said, holding out a hand to shake. He was still in uniform, though it was in only slightly better shape than Una’s.

Kirk deflected the handshake by gesturing toward the Talosian on the ground. “Daseh. Xe blew up the psionic amplifier that gave the elder Talosians much of their power.”

“Xe’s just a kid,” the doctor’s eyes flicked to the braid on Kirk’s sleeve. “Captain.”

“Enterprise,” he said. “Kirk.”

Hasan knelt to examine Daseh. “Let’s get xem to the infirmary down here. Neck’s not broken, but I think xe’s bleeding into that big brain of xers.”

Kirk lifted xem into his arms, careful to support xer head, as if xe were a giant newborn. He was ready for the wash of disorientation and braced himself against a wall while shifting into it. Her head wasn’t the only injury. He thought he could feel cracked ribs, a broken arm. “You okay?,” Siddig said. “Is xe trying to get in your head?”

“I’m trying to get into xers. Lead on.” He stood, carrying xem easily, slowed more by a desire not to jostle xem and cause more serious injury than by the kid’s negligible weight. Daseh xemself was barely conscious. He had no idea how to ease xer pain, so he just crooned, _It’s okay, I’ve got you, you’re going to be okay_ over and over, in hopes that it would help.

The infirmary was a lot less empty that he’d expected. It was wall to wall Talosians, most of them children, among whom several blue clad officers moved. “Bring her over here,” Hasan said, indicating a narrow bed next to a piece of technology he couldn’t quite place.

“Meg, do you know if this thing still works?”

A Talosian walked over to the three of them. “It does not. Daseh! What happened?”

“Xe’s the one who took out the amplifier for us. Get me a tissue regen kit from my bag and the good medscanner. Can you handle anaesthesia?”

“Aye, sir,” the Talosian said, incongruously.

“You don’t have to call me sir, Meg,” the doctor said to Meg’s back as xe walked, no, hobbled to a table to fish through a Starfleet issue medbag. Xe returned with the instruments and Hasan went to work.

Kirk counted five more officers in blue, one physician and it looked like two nurses and two corpsmen. Hasan indicated them briefly with a nod before turning back to his patient. “She’s under?”

The Talosian called Meg said, “Yes.”

While Hasan worked, he said, “I know, I know, escape, sabotage, survive. We’re doctors. You can’t expect us to look at a room full of starving kids and say no.”

Kirk had to sit. He dropped into a chair, knowing it didn’t look as casual as it ought to. “I would never expect that.” The knobby ankles, the protruding elbows and gray shadows under shining eyes took him back to places he didn’t want to think about. He centered himself, losing track of what Hasan was saying for a moment.

“...got easier once they stopped trying to make them look like human kids. They couldn’t have thought they were fooling us, must have thought we would care more, but you can’t find a vein on an arm you can’t see.” He paused in his ministration. “Meg, turn xer head to the left for me please. So we’ve gotten a few of the food synthesizers repaired, got some more nutrition into the kids. It’s not that there weren’t plenty of calories to go around, they’re just so protein and vitamin deficient they can’t use the calories they get.”

Kirk managed a nod. A tiny, fragile child noticed he was seated and crawled over to him. Xe was too big to be crawling, perhaps three years old. Xe pulled up on Kirk’s knees and lay xer oversized head in his lap. He scooped xem up into his arms.

“Xe’s five,” Hasan said. “There are four of them. The only four surviving five year olds on the whole planet. That one’s Nim. Their infant mortality rate went sky high about six years ago, was it?” One of the Talosians confirmed with a nod. “But the elders need people to look after them, so they just kept filling every available uterine replicator with babies.”

Kirk felt his hands start to shake. Fragile, bony limbs, soft hair growing where it shouldn’t, the sizzle of phaser fire in dusty air. Nim’s heart raced on his lap and xe curled up tighter. Another Talosian lifted the child from his arms. “You are distressed.”

“It’s not my first famine,” he managed to say.

Hasan spared him only a brief, curious look before turning back to Meg. “Can you handle putting a nasogastric tube in? I want to get some nutrition into Daseh.” He turned away from the table and back to Kirk. “The things we see out here in the black, am I right?”

Kirk huffed what was supposed to be a laugh. “Something like that. How many Talosians are there in total?”

Hasan thought briefly. “Just under seventy-five hundred, about two thirds non-ambulatory elders. Decisions are pretty much in the hands of about a hundred of them, or so I hear. Their population dropped by half two years ago. Legionella from inadequately cleaned ventilation ducts. They just sealed off the whole section and moved.”

Kirk rose to lean over Daseh on the biobed. “Is xe going to be okay?”

“I think so. I’ll keep a close eye. So, Enterprise is here?”

“I wish. No, they gave us a courier. Long story. Celeste is still in orbit, so we should be able to squeeze everyone in, get you all home.”

Hasan shook his head. “You won’t need to make space for me. I’m staying here. Work to be done.”

“You sure? They kidnapped you, enslaved you, essentially.”

“These kids didn’t. And I think destroying the amplifier has pretty much beheaded the government. We’re going to need a lot of our people down here getting these folks back on their feet.” Another little child wrapped xer arms around Hasan’s legs. He hoisted xem up to rest xer head on his shoulder. “They crave contact.” He rested a hand on the biobed for balance. “It’s kind of disorienting. The little ones pass around a lot of images instead of words. You get used to it.”

“I’ve had some practice,” Kirk evaded. “Can you spare a medic or two? I’m sweeping for stragglers. The Talosians may not have their amplifier, but they’re still powerful enough to incapacitate anybody who doesn’t know how to shield their mind.”

“Doctor Nakahara, can you hold down the fort?.”

“Aye,” a short, round woman in pigtails said.

Hasan grabbed his bag and followed Kirk out of the infirmary. Kirk turned to him. “If you leave, will they try to punish you?”

“Maybe.” He didn’t break his stride. “What about you? Have they just not found you yet?”

“Oh they know all about me.” He banished that thought. “Don’t worry about me, I can defend myself.” To his credit, Hasan knew intentionally vague when he heard it and respected the chain of command enough not to pry, though Kirk for his part wondered why he’d felt the need to be indirect in the first place.

A more familiar pressure in his mind made him pause. “A moment. Spock. Status report?” He let the bond open up. They were too far apart to pass images, but Spock’s not quite words came through loud and clear. _Uhura and T’Pring are on the Celeste. We’re sending the bulk of the rescuees up there. Still can’t trust that they can’t be influenced from orbit, so we’ve got the controls set to respond only to our people._

“Understood. What’s the situation with the mass driver?”

_It’s been changing the orbits of bolides around the system. We could easily destroy it, but to do so will trigger retaliation against Gol._

“Get a message to Dad. Best encryption you can manage.”

 _Aye_. They shared a moment of warmth, an almost-kiss. _Return soon._

“I will.” He turned back to Hasan. “Let’s get our people up to the Celeste.”

Hasan stared at him. “What was that?”

“Getting a report from my XO. Communicators won’t penetrate all this rock. So we improvise. You coming?” Babbling. Why the hell was he babbling?

“Dad?” he heard Hasan say from behind him. “Dad?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scene 1: Una, Pike and Vina at the farmhouse get together with Kshir and Urey.   
> Scene 2: Plak tow and tactical smut. The distraction works, Daseh is able to destroy the amplifier and give everybody else a fighting chance against the Talosian elders.  
> Scene 3: Spock and Kirk split up to do stuff, Daseh is critically injured and Kirk takes her to the infirmary. Spock and Kirk are using their bond like a communicator. Kirk tells Spock to contact Sarek.


	23. Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Attempts to save Talos from destruction have consequences at Gol and elsewhere.

The worst of the effects of _pon farr_ had been brought under control by Spock’s union with Jim down on the planet, but his body and mind still cried out for his mate, enough so that under ordinary circumstances he might have declared himself emotionally compromised. He found that he could keep himself focused by allowing himself to seek out Jim through the bond at intervals, which he needed to do anyway, as their communicators were functioning spottily at best.

Captain Burnham approached, walking around to face him so he wouldn’t be startled. It was kind of her to do so. Uhura, T’Pring, and McCoy had already relocated to the Celeste to oversee the rescue of Starfleet personnel, leaving only Scotty and themselves on the Mariah. “I believe that we should temporarily relocate to the Celeste, to ensure the evacuation is going smoothly.”

“I believe you are correct,” Spock said, her eyes flicking up toward the camera and microphone that recorded everything that occurred on the bridge and sent it directly back to Vulcan. “Mr. Scott, meet us in the transporter room.”

“Aye,” Scott said over the comm.

Once they arrived, Burnham stepped onto the pad with Spock and said, “Mr. Scott, you have the conn. Think you’ll be all right here by yourself?”

“I’ll be fine. Keep me in the loop.”

“Will do. Energize.”

*

The Celeste was as full as the Mariah had been empty, but at least it wasn’t bugged. Spock nodded acknowledgement to Uhura, who was standing with a transporter tech he didn’t know. He followed Burnham through the crowded hallways until they reached Sickbay.

It looked like the good doctor had his hands full. It took several minutes for him to acknowledge them with more than gestures, beginning with a delaying handwave and escalating eventually to him pointing repeatedly to a corner in which they were presumably to stand until he was ready for them. Sickbay was full of patients wearing gowns or scrubs. He counted twenty lying or sitting on every available chair and spot of flooring, some unconscious, some sitting in small groups with their arms about each other.

McCoy finished administering a hypospray to a young man who had to be held down by two other patients. The patient relaxed into unconsciousness and McCoy finally approached them. “I’m busy, talk fast.”

“We need an empty room in which we can meditate undisturbed,” Burnham said. Spock puzzled over her request, but she was the captain, and his older sister, and her plans were usually logical.

McCoy waved his arm at the rescued people piled all over his floor. “Psychological injuries, most of them...I don’t even want to know what some of them were subjected to. It’s going to be a bit before I can get them triaged and placed in quarters. The ones on the biobeds are suicide attempts. I don’t have any place…” He stopped to think. “Will the supply closet do?”

“It will be perfect,” Burnham assured him. They followed McCoy, trying not to step on anyone, to a door off sickbay. 

“Try not to mess anything up in there,” he said, ushering them in. He followed them in, plucked a couple of boxes of supplies off a shelf, and searched through another box. “Is this one of those check on you if you don’t come out in twenty minutes kind of private conversations?”

For a moment, Spock stared in shock. Was McCoy implying that he was going to have sexual relations with his sister? Burnham answered for him. “Exactly that kind. We are going to attempt to contact our father.”

While Spock struggled to keep up--clearly _pon farr_ had left him compromised intellectually as well as emotionally--McCoy finished fiddling with the pair of biomonitoring bracelets he’d collected from the box behind Burnham’s head. “I thought as much. Put these on. They’ll let me know if you get into trouble.”

Burnham snapped the bracelet on without comment and Spock followed her lead. She closed the door. “All right. First, we talk without bugs. I need a feasibility report on taking out that mass driver.”

Spock nodded. “The Mariah has no offensive weaponry, save the small phaser array designed for deflecting debris. The Celeste is a little better, with somewhat more powerful phaser banks and a handful of photon torpedoes. Fortunately, our scans show the mass driver has no anti-ship offensive capability. If its shields can be lowered, a targeted blast at close range should destroy its tractor beams and render it harmless.”

“But when we take it out, it’s a guarantee Starfleet Intelligence will know, and that, probably, is the trigger for setting off the charges placed at Gol and around the Mariah.” Burnham paused to think. “What are the chances they’ve been effectively disabled?”

“Mr. Scott has neutralized the cyclosarin poison in all of the devices we found both on the Mariah and at Gol, however, there is at least a 52.6 percent chance that charges were missed in Gol, and a 28.5 percent chance that there are devices on the Mariah that we have not located. Captain Kirk suggests that we contact Ambassador Sarek prior to engaging in any action likely to trigger the devices.”

“Contacting the Ambassador could itself provide enough reason for them to cut their losses,” Burnham noted.

“You mean because Commander Phillips seems to be looking for a reason to destroy Talos and everyone associated with it?”

“I do not believe the Commander has the best intentions toward Vulcan.” Burnham looked like she wanted to say more, but stopped herself. “We need to contact Father using a communications channel that cannot be observed by Starfleet Intelligence.”

“Have you asked Uhura to create an encryption algorithm to that purpose?”

Burnham nodded. “I have, but I don’t completely trust it. Spock, do you remember the bombing at the Learning Center? You were five. I was nine.”

“I was not yet attending school. I remember that you almost died and that I was distressed that our parents would not allow me to visit you in the hospital.”

Burnham’s eyes smiled. “I remember you used Mother’s access code to call an aircar and snuck into the building to bring me candy.”

“I was being resourceful.”

“I did not almost die. I died. For about three minutes. There were no medics around when our father found me, no one to bring me back. So he did what he had to.”

Spock waited for her to clarify.

“Sometimes you are so dense, little brother. He gave me a piece of himself, to bring me back. I still have it, a _katra_ patch, I think it’s called. It’s a bond at least as strong as a marriage bond, maybe stronger. We can reach him through it.”

“How do you know?”

“Father reached me on the,” she paused to look over his shoulder, though there was nothing to look at in the supply closet. “On the Shenzhou.”

“I do not know where to begin.”

“We’ll just have to improvise. Sit down, Spock.”

The room had no chairs. Michael found a sheet on the shelf by her head and spread it out between them. She arranged herself in a meditative posture on it and gestured for Spock to join her. He sat, swallowed. He had hoped he could keep this part of himself for Jim alone, but circumstances seemed to be leading him in other directions. “My...time...is only in abeyance, not ended. I regret anything unsavory you might witness.”

“Well I haven’t kept my mind as tidy as you probably have, so don’t mind the dirty laundry on the floor.”

Spock could keep from shaking his head infinitesimally. “You have developed a much more human sense of humor since we were younger.”

“I blame my first officer. Quit stalling.” She closed her eyes, took a slow breath, and began the first meditation forms. Spock lowered his shields cautiously and reached for the psi points on his sister’s face. He shifted easily into her mind and allowed a simple symbolic landscape to emerge, one that was unique to the two of them and their specific situation. Transparent surfaces like panes of glass intersected at all angles against a starry background. They sought the symbolic representation of her bonds--here, at the center of a whirlpool of circling panes, Sarek’s a familiar resonance surrounded by only a few others, the fully psi latent Michael being unable to create them on her own.

It could not be as inelegantly simple as projecting through the glassy strand of the bond, could it? Michael began, _Father!_ Spock added intent and power behind her projection, until after a few seconds a third figure emerged into their mindspace.

Michael wasted no time. _We will be engaging the mass driver in roughly one hour. The Talosian threat to the Federation at large has been neutralized. I request a VES ship to rendezvous with us here to assist in retrieving our people and establishing diplomatic relations with Talos._

Sarek responded with suspicion. Spock caught the thread and brought himself more fully into the conversation. _Without the aid of a psionic amplifier, which has been destroyed, the Talosians have great difficulty producing convincing illusions in a shielded mind. A Vulcan ship will have a better defended crew._

_I will take the matter up with T’Pau. Maintaining this link is taxing. I must take my leave._

And he was gone.

*

It took Sarek far too long to rise from his bed. He took the precaution of alerting Amanda to his condition before attempting to stand and draw on his robes. She turned on a light, took one look at him and immediately commed his brother, which he had been about to ask her to do, though for other reasons. “Amanda, take my hand,” he said.

She rushed to him and clutched it, alarmed at his tone. He gentled her briefly, then said, _The weather is turning. Get everyone to the deep tunnels, down in the pre-reform ruins. Tell Sovar to meet me outside the rooms used by Starfleet Intelligence._  
Aloud, he said. “I am unwell. I wish to visit T’Pau.”

He took two full minutes he could not spare to quiet his racing heart. Perhaps, when this crisis was over, he would discuss his medical condition with his brother and seek treatment, but he had not had the leisure to do so. Thankfully, Amanda had been briefed on the code phrase and understood the need for speed and stealth. She was out of their quarters before he rose.

He sought T’Pau first. She required no explanation, but he offered one aloud, for listening ears. “I find I am unwell and require the services of my brother. I fear I may require transport to an advanced medical facility. Given that the weather is turning, transport may provide challenges.”

“What has happened?”

“It is my heart. The consequences of an old injury.” The statement had the advantage--and disadvantage--of being true.

“I will escort you to speak with Starfleet,” she said. She walked with him, after a moment even catching his arm with her strong hand, partly to urge him forward more quickly, partly to support some of his weight. He accepted the gesture with grateful silence, not least because the pace they were making left him too breathless to speak.

They reached the seating alcove outside the rooms Commander Phillips and her staff used. Sarek mustered the grace to seat himself, rather than merely collapsing. It had been eleven point four minutes since his children had contacted him from Talos. He was glad of the warning, though had yet to make sense of their request for a Vulcan ship. It had not been possible to remain in contact long enough to get a detailed sense of what was going on there. 

It was another fourteen minutes before Sovar arrived. Sarek waited patiently, glad that it was the middle of local night and their presence was unlikely to be noticed until he wished it to be. Sovar’s quick strides brought him to where they sat. He said, “I have assisted in securing those items that might be damaged,” then proceeded to take a closer look at Sarek, to the point of pulling out an medscanner. “You are in heart failure.”

“Indeed. T’Pau, I have doubts as to whether we will emerge from that room. You must relay the request for a Vulcan ship to T’Nes. We will engage the Intelligence officers in an attempt to convince them to delay. I suspect Commander Phillips of ulterior motives that I hope she will divulge to me.”

“I outrank you, Ambassador,” T’Pau said, arching her eyebrow. “But I concur with your assessment. Take no unnecessary risks.” She stood and walked briskly away.

Sovar helped him to his feet. “Avoid straining yourself more than necessary.”

Given that Sarek considered the likelihood of his escaping his meeting with Phillips alive to be only 65.2 percent, he did not consider the slightly less immediate problem of his heart failure to be a major concern. As a tool, however…

Sovar pressed the door alert and waited. Ten seconds later, he pressed it again. The blonde female agent opened the door. “Lieutenant Luna,” Sovar began. “May we come in?”

Luna looked from one to the other of them. “What are you doing out this time of night?”

Sovar made a show of supporting Sarek. Sarek’s leaning on his arm was not a show at all. “Ambassador Sarek is in heart failure. He must be removed to a high level surgical facility and be operated upon by a cardiac surgeon immediately. We have neither the facilities nor expertise to treat him here.”

Luna stared at them for far too long before she stepped away from the door. “Commander Phillips is not going to approve of your leaving.”

Commander Phillips, as she was calling herself these days, was as trustworthy as a le-matya in Sarek’s considered opinion. Sovar half-dragged him inside and dumped him on Luna’s couch. “Is she sleeping at present?” Sovar prompted. “This cannot wait.”

By now, T’Pau should be in contact with T’Nes and with any luck, a ship would be sent, if not to Talos itself, which struck him as illogically risky even to him, perhaps to intercept the Celeste. The goal at this point was to stall as long as possible in order to ensure that the evacuation was complete and to, it was to be hoped, get a recorded admission from Phillips of her involvement. Sarek’s role at this point was to sit quietly and look gravely ill, a role that was becoming easier by the minute.

Luna cast a furtive glance toward the bedroom door. “I do not wish to wake her unnecessarily,” she said. 

Sovar nodded solemnly. “I understand your reluctance. Perhaps you can assist us in her stead.”

“All decisions of this nature must be made by Commander Phillips herself.”

“If you do not wake her soon, the problem will solve itself. Will she appreciate not being consulted in that case?”

Luna chewed her lip. “No. I will retrieve her.” She crossed the room to signal at Phillips’ door. While she waited at the door, arms crossed and fingers picking at her uniform sleeve, the computer terminal on the desk began to blink red. Sovar crossed the space in two steps, briskly, to turn off the monitor, then reached under the desk to shut off the sound, just in case.

Phillips emerged in her own good time, wearing a filmy silk robe that draped less than efficiently about her body. She swept past Sovar, flipping the computer screen back on, then arranged herself artfully on the couch opposite Sarek. “Your people have disabled the mass driver,” she said. “I must assume that the Talosians have suborned them.”

“Is it not possible that the situation rendered genocide unnecessary?” Sovar said.

“It is no matter. The Mariah is no longer a concern. Starfleet Intelligence has a vested interest in keeping these events secret.”

Sarek found he could no longer keep his seat. He listed to the side until he was lying with his head resting on the arm of the couch. Sovar continued to speak. “We know about the devices you have placed. We beg you not to use them. Gol is a critical cultural resource for this entire planet.” he said.

“And what’s wrong with you?” Phillips said, noticing Sarek’s condition for the first time.

“He is in heart failure and must be moved to an appropriate medical facility,” Sovar said.

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Phillips said. She turned to Luna. “Kill them both, then set off the charges.”

Luna hesitated, blinking, just long enough for Sovar to pull the sidearm hidden beneath his robes. He took two shots in close succession, stunning Luna and striking Phillips, whose body flashed golden sparks off the energy weapon neutralizer she wore. Such devices had too many drawbacks to use regularly, in particular that they only worked once and took a lot of power for something worn on the body, but for certain applications…Phillips tapped a short sequence into a device on her wrist.

Between his position on the couch and his dimming vision, Sarek saw only part of Sovar’s struggle with Phillips for his sidearm. He passed into unconsciousness assuming he would not awaken.

*

At Gol, a series of explosions, each large enough to damage property and cause injury within a distance of a couple of meters, ripped through the monastery. All but two had no further effect. Scotty had decided that their explosive capacity would be left intact, the better to prevent their makers from discovering that they had been tampered with. A few flammable objects had been moved to reduce the risk of fire. Twenty-two of the devices had been neutralized, the cyclosarin gas within them degraded by the addition of a second gas that transformed the toxin into an inert substance that smelled strongly of licorice. Two devices, however, were missed. The first, sealed into a wall in the conference room used for strategic planning, caused no lasting harm. If it had gone off two minutes earlier, T’Pau would have still been there with the representative from the expeditionary service, but as it happened, they had just beamed aboard her ship. The second exploded inside a biobed in the surgical suite, which, while unoccupied, was close enough to Gol’s main infirmary to kill the Healer trainee and nurse stationed there for the night shift.

*

“The mass driver is still on course for the planet. We’re assuming that, since we’ve taken out the tractor beams, it’s falling back on secondary programming.” Barely a ship, that thing was, no crew, no name...They hadn’t even bothered to name the thing, which struck Scotty as somehow obscene.

“It’s going to crash directly into the Talosian settlement,” Scotty said.

“That’s our assumption. We’re going to try to take out the main engines.”

On the Mariah, only one explosive device was missed. It had been hidden in a false panel in the common room, under a couch that was, like most pieces of heavy furniture on ships, bolted to the floor. When the detonation signal arrived, it exploded with a bang and hiss that could be heard throughout the ship. Scotty jumped. It had been one hour and ten minutes since the mass driver’s tractor beams were disabled.

He took one quick breath and headed for the transporter room, cursing himself for leaving his gas mask down with the engines. He would have to beam down to Talos and hope for the best, as the Celeste was the better part of a solar system away riding herd on the mass driver. It took his full breath of air to reach the transporter room. He was forced to take a second. His nose began to run immediately, but he managed to set the coordinates before his body overrode his brain and the tightness in his chest made it nearly impossible to take another breath. He punched the button with his fist, his fingers already cramping into useless claws, the automatic five second delay giving him just enough time to take one normal step, then, as the poison passed from lungs, to blood, to nerves and brain, two more staggering steps, nausea and cramping muscles bringing him to his knees. He crawled the rest of the way to the pad, just in time for the shimmering beam to carry him to the planet below.


	24. Fog of War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phillips' machinations wreak havoc on Talos and elsewhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (THis is not the chapter with the smut. I was wrong.)

Doctor Siddig Hasan was informing an angry ensign that she was not in bad enough shape to go home with the Celeste when two Starfleet officers dragged a third into his infirmary, shouting over each other. All the beds were full. He grabbed his bag and dropped to his knees where they lay the man on the floor. He looked dead at first glance, not breathing, his pupils unresponsive to light and his lips already shading blue, but there was a faint heartbeat.

“Clear a table, now,” he told the room. One of his nurses stepped forward to assist them in lifting the human to the bed. The victim had to be someone from the Mariah, judging from the pristine condition of his uniform. “Allende, get some air into him. Meg, can you give me any idea what’s going on in there?” He passed his medscanner over the man’s chest and frowned at the results. “Pulse is weakening.”

Meg responded while she cut off his shirt. “He’s paralyzed and in a lot of pain. Muscle spasms. It’s not a telepathic attack, though. His name is Montgomery Scott. From the Mariah.”

“He’s been poisoned,” Hasan confirmed. “It would be easier if we knew…”

“Cyclosarin,” Meg said. “Apparently he anticipated the possibility.”

“Thank you Mr. Scott. You may have saved your own life.” If he had any atropine or biperiden on him, that was. “Ventilate him, Meg. Don’t touch him if you don’t have to.” Xe backed away, hands raised. He kept talking while he fished through his bag for an ampule of atropine. “Cyclosarin can travel on clothing. If you start to feel sick in any way, don’t wait to tell me. Everyone who’s had contact with this man strip off your clothes and wash.” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Meg pulling xer robe over xer head awkwardly between squeezes of the bag that was delivering breaths to Scott’s paralyzed lungs..

A nurse passed him the atropine. He wiped his running nose on his sleeve and inserted the ampule into a hypospray. “Bring up the lights in here,” he said, pressing the hypospray to Scott’s neck. He swallowed, adrenaline making his chest feel tight, then swore silently as his muscles fought his next attempt to draw breath. “I’m contaminated,” he said. “Listen. Atropine first, I’ve got several doses in here. Synthesize biperiden and pralidoxime as fast as you can and don’t touch us or our clothes ungloved.”

The nausea became too much for him and he collapsed to the floor, the first muscle spasms beginning to rip through his limbs. He felt his Talosian watcher’s concern turn to fear, and dimly felt the resuscitation equipment being fitted over his mouth and nose to force air into his impotent lungs. His watcher, a thorn in his side for over a month, withdrew, leaving an emptiness he’d not even known was there. It returned in a moment and he clutched at it, ashamed of wanting comfort from his captor. The pain faded, a blessing that might just help save his life.

His brain was foggy from the poison’s effects, especially from the lack of oxygen, but he forced himself to think clear instructions at the watcher. If each of the poisoned people’s symptoms could be controlled, even partially, they’d have a better chance. Meg, he thought as he slipped into unconsciousness. Somebody help Meg…

*

Extra senses did nothing to dispel the fog of war, or given this was not really a war as such, the fog of mid-mission confusion. Kirk was still missing Spock with an unmistakably physical ache, released Starfleet personnel were still wandering the underground corridors in search of triage stations,and the Celeste had barreled off after the mass driver and couldn’t be reached by communicator even if he went up to the surface. They needed to find the Elders.

A flock of silver robed adolescents accosted him in the corridor, their projections so urgent they blurred together into an amorphous whirl. Amid the rush of images of falling bodies with pale faces and bluing lips, Dr. Hasan and Scotty among them, he caught, clearly, “Poisoned.”

“All right, all right,” he said, speaking out of force of habit, “I can’t process all of you thinking at me at once. You. What happened?” He singled out the tallest Talosian. 

“Two humans brought this human to the infirmary,” the image of Scott’s face, slack and bluish, flashed behind his eyes. “He had poison on his clothes.”

“We must have missed one of the charges on the Mariah.” He was already jogging past them back toward the infirmary. “How many affected?”

A flurry of numbers and faces flickered through the group, settled at “Six. Four humans, two Talosian assistants.”

He pushed his way into the infirmary. He could see human and Talosian medics bustling around three biobeds. Another three forms lay on the floor, covered with plastic sheeting. “Is the contaminated material all contained?”

One of the human nurses looked up, took a moment to identify him, and said, “Yes, sir. We have sent some of our people to collect Commander Kshir as well.”

“Casualties?”

“Three fatalities, three on life support, five more with milder symptoms we’re treating.”

“The fatalities?”

“Lieutenant Moore, from the Yorktown. He and Ensign Chou found your Engineer. Two Talosians acting as medtechs. Meg and Wanad.”

Meg. He recognized the name and frowned. “How are the ones on life support?”

“We’re synthesizing an antidote. If Scott hadn’t known exactly what poisoned him we wouldn’t have had a chance. He’s in pretty rough shape. Chou and Hasan are doing better. We have all three heavily sedated.”

He sensed Kshir in the doorway behind him and turned to face her. “Commander Kshir. Starfleet Intelligence rigged our ship to poison us if they believed we became compromised. We thought we’d neutralized all of the devices, but we evidently missed one.”

She strode past him to stand between Chou and Hasan’s biobeds. “Will they recover?”

The same nurse answered. “We think so, but we lost Lieutenant Moore. There just weren’t enough hands…”

“Understood. We can assume that Intelligence has decided to cut and run, then. Help may not be quick in coming.”

Kirk nodded. If Scotty had known the poison would seep in lethal amounts into his clothes he would never have beamed down. He would feel responsible when he woke. If he woke. Much as he wanted to stay in the infirmary in case anything changed, there were more urgent concerns. “We need to find the Elders and put some kind of functional government in place, quickly. Otherwise this whole situation could get ugly, fast.”

“Uglier than it is already?”

“Plenty uglier.” Kirk forced back the images of just how ugly. The food machines were being brought back online and there was no shortage of feedstock, yet. No one was going to starve as long as Starfleet’s finest were around, but they needed to be sure everyone on the surface knew that.

*

Sovar got off a second shot thanks to Commander Phillips’ delay. The personal phaser shield sparked, flared, and this time, died. Phillips fell to the floor, not quite unconscious, but fighting to control her shocked limbs. Sovar bent to capture her shoulder between his fingers, releasing only when her body went limp and the fury in her mind stilled as she lost consciousness.

The third Intelligence operative staggered through the door from his bedroom directly into Sovar’s phaser. He dropped neatly to the floor. Sovar, diligent Healer that he was, visited all three in turn, ensuring that they were safely lying on their sides so that they would breathe easily. He had known of phaser deaths caused by something as simple as a face down fall onto pile carpet. He took the precaution of deepening their slumber as well. He could use all the time he could get.

Once the three agents were neutralized, he knelt by his brother, medscanner in hand. Sarek still breathed, but his lips and the half moons of his cuticles were far too pale. He scooped the slighter man into his arms easily and hurried down the corridor that led outside. Two security officers, one human, the other Vulcan, stopped him at the door. “Sarek is dying. He requires immediate surgery in a more advanced facility than is available here. I am to accompany him to the Geretaya.”

“We have not received authorization for a transfer.”

“The illness came upon him very suddenly.” He allowed a small amount of his genuine concern--more accurately terror, to escape his controls and show on his face. The human stepped aside immediately.

“We can accompany them to the transporter pad and contact the Geretaya,” Vatak offered.

“I concur with your logic,” Sovar said. He followed them out to the pad and waited for the brief, urgent communication to be completed. Sarek, mercifully, continued to breathe. The two security officers stepped off the pad. Sovar felt himself dissolve.

As soon as he and Sarek solidified in the Geretaya’s transporter room, his brother was taken off his hands by a trio of efficient medical professionals in white scrubs, placed on a gurney, and rolled toward the door. Sovar followed a step behind. Before they had even left the transporter room the sound of the engine changed, became richer and deeper in pitch. The floor seemed to drop for the smallest fraction of a second as the ship entered high warp.

Sovar was not a space traveler by history or inclination. He found the idea of spending one’s days tucked inside a thin metal and forcefield shell on the other side of which was hard vacuum to be as logic defying as the Enterprise doctor did. However, he dismissed the thought of what was outside the walls of the ship to focus his entire attention on what might be expected of him by the medical staff to keep his brother alive.

*

The mass driver had overpowered engines, the better to power its massive tractor beams, but it was still not as nimble as the Celeste. Captain Una stood on the bridge, Spock and Captain Burnham beside him, while the Celeste’s captain steered around the larger craft in an effort to intercept it before it could barrel into the planet. The mass driver weighed less than a hundred meter diameter asteroid, but its powerful engines could drive it into the surface at a speed that would give it the destructive power of a hydrogen bomb. It had to be stopped, or at the very least, diverted a minimum of a thousand kilometers from its target to prevent the deaths of every being in the underground Talosian settlement.

Spock cleared his throat. ““Captain Sagan, a moment of your time.”

“What is it, Mr Spock?”

“The Mariah has been compromised by a release of cyclosarin gas. It can no longer be used for transport. If it were piloted into the mass driver it would cause it to miss the planet.”

“Why didn’t you mention this before?”

“It happened only moments ago. Captain Kirk informed me through our bond.”

Sagan paused to process that piece of information, evidently decided an explanation was not worth the time required to request it, and said instead, “Can we get to the Celeste in time?”

“I believe so. It will be necessary for someone to pilot the craft in full environmental gear, and ideally leave the gear behind when transporting out.”

Una stepped forward. “I volunteer. I am an excellent pilot, and my reflexes are faster than those of humans.”

“You’re not human?” the captain said.

“Illyrian. We are biologically very similar. It is an easy mistake.”

Sagan considered her for a moment, then said, “Get suited up. Marji, how quickly can we be in position?”

“Eight minutes to close approach. Then Una, you’ll have three minutes to intercept the mass driver. We’ll do our best to stay in transporter range.”

Spock followed Una to help her suit up. “You will need to pilot the ship precisely into the center of gravity of the mass driver at a minimum speed of…”

“Spock, you do recall that I am a proficient pilot, do you not?”

Spock fell back a pace. “Of course. I am merely--” he began again.

“Do you lecture your captain as well?”

“I,” he started to say. “Perhaps. I have a desire to protect him from harm.”

“And he’s an adult who can take care of himself. Just like me.” They reentered Sickbay and returned to the closet Spock had visited with Burnham. Una plucked a biohazard suit off a shelf and shook it out. “Speaking of which, nice catch. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“My relationship with my captain…” he began to say.

“Is written all over your clothes. You should shower and change soon.” She had a distinct habit of interrupting him. Una shimmied the rest of the way into the biohazard suit. “Seal me up?”

Spock bent to seal Una into her suit. “That distraction took some guts,” she said.

“I would prefer not to discuss the matter.”

Una flipped the hood closed. Spock sealed it around her and walked with her to the transporter pad, the suit mercifully discouraging further conversation. He made one last check to ensure the seals were all tight and the rebreather was functioning, then waited with the transporter tech until word came from Captain Sagan that the ship was in position. Una dematerialized. Sagan continued. “Use the transporters to shift as many people as you can out of the danger zone.”

Spock turned to the tech. “Beam me to the surface.”

“Are you sure? If the mass driver isn’t deflected you’ll go up like everyone else down there.”

Spock stepped onto the pad. “My absence will provide a space for one more evacuee. Quickly.” The tech nodded, probably not wanting to waste time arguing. The transporter room vanished.


	25. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarek and Sovar confront Phillips on the Discovery. After the destruction of the amplifier, Kirk, Pike, and Spock make their way toward the Elders.

Una found herself on the Mariah’s transporter pad. There was no sign that the air around her was filled with a deadly poison except—there. On the transporter room floor, a puddle of yellowish liquid, and down by her feet, small enough she wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t already been hyperalert, a few streaks and flecks of bright red blood. She wondered who had been on the ship when the poison was released, and where the body had been taken.

There was no time to dwell on such unpleasant speculation. She hurried forward to the tiny, shuttlecraft like bridge, keyed in her code and took aim at the mass dirver’s center off mass, then punched in the calculations that would tell her exactly how far off center she had to aim in order to change the ship’s trajectory to scuttle it more or less safely in an ocean a quarter of the way around the world from the main Talosian settlement. Her aim adjusted, she keyed the communicator in her suit to say, “Stand by to transport,” set thrusters to full power and rode the Mariah into its target, trusting the transporter tech on the Celeste to capture her before the ship was destroyed.

*

Spock materialized outdoors, surrounded by the thin soil and sparse vegetation he remembered from his previous visit to Talos. There was a small, crude shelter about thirty meters to his left. He started toward it. A woman in late middle age, unkempt and with signs of some serious accident in her past, sat just outside the door. “Vina?” Spock guessed.

“Spock. Finally someone Christopher wants to see less than he wants to see me.” She stood and smoothed her short dress down over her thighs. “He’s inside if you want to talk to him.”

He did not want to talk to Pike, precisely, but he did need to see him, to assess his condition and ensure he was safely transferred to the Celeste. Reuniting with Jim would have to wait.

A young man wearing only a length of silver cloth tied about his waist met him at the door, took in his stripes, and said, “Lieutenant Urey, sir.”

Commodore Pike sat at a rough-hewn table in the center of the shelter. He looked painfully thin. “You’ll pardon me if I don’t stand,” he said without looking at Spock at all.

“Do either of you know where the entrance to the underground facility is located?”

“I think I do, sir,” Urey said.

“Please inform those within that they must come to the surface as quickly as practical. The facility is in danger of destruction, and the Celeste is being used to transport as many as possible to a safer region on the planet.”

“Aye, sir.” Urey left as quickly as he could, picking his way barefoot over the rough ground.

“Commodore,” Spock said, turning to Pike.

His former commanding officer turned his face toward him, his expression unreadable. “Spock. Or not.”

In spite of his ragged uniform, wasted frame, and hopeless eyes, Pike still looked better than he had when Spock last saw him. “A freighter is on course to impact this location. Captain Una is attempting to divert it, but we intend to evacuate as many people as possible in the event she is unsuccessful.”

“What? You’re just going to walk up to me and report like nothing happened?”

“You are uncertain of my identity, hence the only logical course is to provide you with a status report and allow you to draw your own conclusions.”

“Always were a cold fish,” Pike said, his voice bitter.

Whether Spock were regarded as real or not, he might not have another chance to say his piece. “I regret my actions,” he said. “I was emotionally compromised, and as a result insufficiently suspicious of the Talosians’ motives.” Pike nodded curtly, then turned slightly away from him. Spock continued. “In addition, had I chosen to do so, I could have determined that your condition was not as it seemed. I was too risk averse to do so.” Afraid. He meant afraid.

Pike nodded again, face still set in unforgiving horizontal lines. “For the moment, I will assume you are who you say you are.” He straightened the remains of his uniform and stood, still not looking directly at Spock. 

“We could use your assistance organizing the evacuation,” Spock said. He felt a faint pressure on his shields, then an unknown Talosian slammed into them, hard enough to make him pause to hold them out. If that was the best they could do, he was in no danger, but it would be inconvenient and unpleasant to maintain his shields against constant attack.

Pike followed him without comment. They passed Vina where she sat just outside the shelter. “Come with us, we should get you to a safe place,” Pike said.

Vina shook her head. “My place is here now. If it burns, I burn. I find I no longer care.”

“Suit yourself,” Pike told her. He quickened his steps to catch up with Spock.

A line of people were forming outside the compound. They were being organized into groups of six and sent into a clearing, where they shimmered away, to be replaced by the next group moving out.

He could see Kirk in his filthy uniform, the gold barely visible under the coating of gray dust, directing the operation with the Caitian officer, Kshir, beside him. Some of the Starfleet officers carried Talosian children in their arms.

He quickened his stride. Jim looked up and waved as the three of them approached. He said something to Kshir and left his post to meet them. He stood close enough to Spock that their shoulders touched, and slipped a hand behind Spock’s back to graze his clasped hands with his fingers.

“Captain Kirk,” he said, by way of introduction.

“Commodore Pike. Did they take the whole ship?”

“No, they let us go. Once we figured out we’d been played we got a rescue mission together. Eight people and a poisoned fast courier isn’t exactly the cavalry, but we’re making headway.”

“What’s important now is getting our people home,” Pike said. They walked together toward the beam up point.

Jim winced. “Would you quit already?” he shouted at the air. “I’m really getting tired of that.” Spock immediately tuned his shields to aid in his defense.

“Problem?” Pike said.

“Some Talosian or other keeps taking a crack at me. We took out their amplifier device a couple of hours ago, so they can’t work together the way they could, but some of them are still trying to get control of whoever they can.”

“So their ability to force illusions into our minds…”

“Isn’t gone, but it’s crippled. You can push past it with some practice. So. Are you willing to make the same offer of assistance to the Talosians that you made thirteen years ago?”

Pike thought. “They could have asked us for help at any time and we would have given it. None of this was necessary, and yet…”

“Here we are,” Jim finished for him. “I took the liberty of including all the younger children in the evacuation queue.”

“Are you sure that was wise?” Pike said.

“Probably not, but I couldn’t leave them behind.” For the first time since they were reunited, Jim leaned into their bond for support and Spock was glad to provide it. He had been chagrined that Jim had to shoulder the whole burden for the two of them when he was in the throes of the blood fever. _I was glad to,_ Jim reassured him yet again.

Spock’s communicator chirped. He flipped it open. “Spock here.”

“This is the Celeste. The mass driver has been successfully diverted. It will crash into a shallow ocean 3116 kilometers from your location. Captain Una has been transported back to the Celeste without incident.”

“Thank you for the update. We will be out of regular communications for a time.”

“Understood.”

Kirk chuckled. “That poor transporter tech. He just put forty-six people on a patch of ground fifteen hundred kilometers from here and now he has to bring them all back.” He rubbed a hand through his hair, which responded by sticking up even more than it had. “Are you up to leading these negotiations? You are both the most familiar with Talos and the most wronged, at least by some measures.”

Pike nodded curtly. “Perhaps the three of us can find a place to clean up beforehand?”

“A moment,” Spock said. “Jim, are the Talosians still attempting to gain control of your mind?”

Jim shrugged. “Intermittently. You?”

“Several times since my arrival. Captain Pike, could you describe our surroundings?”  
“Well, it’s late afternoon, by the sun...oh I see what you mean. I’m pretty sure I’m seeing the actual surface of Talos right now. Our people are heading back underground over by that cliff. Vegetation looks right. There was a farmhouse, but it disappeared a couple of hours ago.”

 _I cannot assist the Commodore_ , Spock projected through the bond. _What I have done...he would be justified in hating me._

“I’ll cover him,” Jim said aloud. He made sure to take Spock’s elbow as they walked, disguising the gesture as a need for assistance over the rough terrain. Spock noted that his bondmate had developed a headache and was ravenously hungry. 

They reached the entrance to the settlement. The elevator took them below ground. Jim pointed down the corridor. “Daseh provided me with a map. We’re looking for someone named Leran. Apparently xe was your primary contact the last time you were here, Commodore.”

*

Sarek had not expected to survive. He swam to consciousness, following the thread laid down by his brother. It was a gentler way of rising out of a healing trance than being struck repeatedly across the face, but only practical when a Healer was present. 

He opened his eyes on what was clearly a starship sickbay, the design telling him he was on a Vulcan Expeditionary Service vessel. “Geretaya?” he said.

“Yes,” his brother said. “It was necessary to awaken you sooner than would be ideal. Several hours ago, the Bletchley Park caught up with us. We have been at a stalemate with them, awaiting the arrival of the Discovery.”

“I assume that Discovery is here now. Is Admiral Cornwell aboard?”

“Yes. You and I are meeting with Commander Phillips and Admiral Enwright aboard the Discovery.”

“Good. Neutral territory. Do we have the evidence we need?”

“Recorded by the Geretaya before it broke orbit.”

He attempted to stand. Sovar slipped an arm across his back and lifted him to his feet, remaining beside him to provide support until he was certain he could support his own weight. His chest ached dully and he still felt tightness when he took a breath, but he seemed to be in much better condition than he had been. He pulled away from Sovar and looked down at himself for the first time. “Please procure for me some acceptable clothing and inform the Discovery that we will beam over in twenty minutes.”

Sovar would not allow him to use the sonic alone or dress unaided, a caution Sarek attempted to appreciate without much success. He preferred not to be reminded of his physical weakness. He did take the time to apply cosmetics, which improved his appearance enough that he no longer appeared to be too ill to be out of bed. Sovar escorted him to the transporter room.

They materialized in the transporter room of the Discovery, where a red haired woman met them. “Acting Captain Silvia Tilly,” she said, raising her hand in a brief ta’al. “If you will accompany me to Conference Room A.”

“Certainly,” Sovar said. Sarek kept step beside him.

He was able to control the emotions on his face, he believed, but not in his mind as he came face to face again with the woman who had tortured his son and tried to murder him and his brother. Tilly and Cornwall took seats around the table. Sovar moved a hand to rest on the small of Sarek’s back, evidently concerned the shock would make him a fall risk. Sarek met the woman’s eyes. “Emperor Georgiou,” he said, electing not to use her assumed name.

“I had not been made aware that you were offered a position with Starfleet Intelligence,” Cornwell said.

Enwright countered, “That information was need to know. You didn’t need to know.”

Sovar took his seat, gesturing Sarek to follow. Finally, Georgiou and Enwright sat. Sarek began, “Our response to the Talosian situation has been heavily influenced by the advice and orders of Commander Georgia Phillips, an alias of Emperor Philippa Georgiou of the Terran Empire. We have reason to believe this advice was designed to ensure the destruction of the Talosian people, the discrediting and deaths of numerous Starfleet officers, and the destabilization of Earth’s relationship with Vulcan.”

“You cannot speak to the motives of Starfleet Intelligence or Commander Phillips,” Enwright protested.

Sarek continued. “Circumstantial evidence indicates a personal animosity toward Commander Spock, as evidenced by the use of a mind sifter for 154 minutes on his person, despite his attempts to cooperate fully. Experts on the mind sifter indicate that no more than fourteen minutes would have been sufficient, if the use of the mind sifter were appropriate at all.”

Cornwell lunged forward. “Wait, you used a Klingon torture device on Commander Spock for two and a half hours?”

“He survived with minimal damage,” Georgiou said.

“In addition, Georgiou and her team placed twenty four charges containing cyclosarin gas within the monastery at Gol and triggered those devices. While the gas in all but two of the charges was neutralized over a week ago by the Starfleet personnel who discovered them, the ones that were not found caused two deaths and rendered a significant portion of the compound temporarily uninhabitable.”

Cornwell appeared to lose the capacity for speech. After a pause, she said, “Go on.”

“They also sent a mass driver to destroy the surface of Talos. It is believed to have been disabled by the team sent on the Mariah.”

Tilly spoke for the first time. “Do we have any information on Captain Burnham?”

Sarek nodded curtly. “Captain Burnham accompanied several members of the Enterprise bridge crew in an attempt to rescue the crews of the Yorktown and Celeste, and to contain and if possible, resolve the Talosian threat. I can state with confidence that she and Commander Spock still live.”

Tilly relaxed visibly. “The Discovery is at your disposal. Shall we set course for Talos?”

Cornwall held up a hand. “I don’t want us flying two more ships into a trap. Do we have a defensive plan?”

“I have provided schematics for r-neutrino blocking technology that can be applied to ship’s shields or deployed as drones around the target planet,” Sovar said.

Cornwell stood to walk over to where Georgiou and Enwright sat side by side. “I am privy to detailed accounts of the actions and racist ideology of the Terran Empire, as well as details of how it treats certain subsets of its population, including the genocide of a peaceful civilization on the cusp of warp capability who just happened to be telepaths. There is a pattern of genocide and enslavement of esper minorities in the Terran Empire that exceeds that of the subjugation of other nonhuman species.”

She paused, possibly for effect. “I have here instructions sent to the orbital platform observing the as yet uncontacted citizens of the planet Betazed, the same planet which was the subject of the genocide I just mentioned, which appear to be intended to destabilize its government.”

Sarek spoke next. “Emperor Georgiou, are you attempting to recreate the Terran Empire?”

*

Kirk led Pike and Spock back down into the Talosian settlement. The corridors were again swarming with displaced humans and Talosians. They seemed to be sorting themselves into pairs, each Starfleet prisoner accompanied by a young Talosian. “This way,” Jim said, a little impatiently.

Spock and Pike followed. They rounded a corner and Pike slowed, raising his arms to shoulder height and waving them around as though seeking a solid surface.

“Commodore,” Kirk said. “Hey!”

Pike turned in his general direction, radiating panic. Kirk wasn’t sure what the Talosian who’d gotten hold of him was projecting, and he didn’t particularly care. He really should have gotten clear consent in advance given Pike’s history, but it was a little late now. He spun Pike to face him and gripped his shoulders, taking a couple of seconds to feel out the Commodore’s base pattern and shift lightly into it. “Breathe with me,” he said, aloud for reinforcement. Pike struggled, not sure who Kirk was. Kirk kept his mind still until Pike stopped panicking long enough to get his bearings. “I got you,” he said. “You’re good. Stomp your feet, see?” After a beat, Pike stomped twice, then nodded.

“You?”

“Yeah. Long story.” They started moving again. “In here,” Jim said. Spock thought a question at him. “Like I said,” he answered, “I have had a hell of a lot of practice since I’ve been down here. You wouldn’t happen to have a candy bar on you, would you?”

“No,” Spock said.

Too bad. Kirk was hungry enough to eat a...well, he was that too. Brain out of the gutter. “Here we are. Showers. Water, it looks like. Everybody strip.”

“Don’t sound so enthusiastic, Kirk,” Pike said.

“I’d love us all to have some privacy, I really would, but I don’t think you can be left alone right now.” He stripped efficiently. Spock followed suit, though the sight of Kirk’s naked body reflected back at him in more detail that he was used to. Ghost fingers raked across the skin of his back. He shivered, stifling the anticipation that was beginning to show and turning a little away from Pike.

Spock turned his back to Jim and set himself to rinsing the dust and grime off his face and body, then rinsed his clothing. “Is there a place to dry these?” he asked. Kirk pointed to a mesh basket against one wall.

He kept his back turned while his clothes dried. Kirk spent a little more time under the water scrubbing the grit out of crevices where it was beginning to chafe. 

“So, you and him,” Pike said.

“Yeah, me and him. You have a problem with that?”

Pike turned back toward him. “Well, you are his CO.”

“There were extenuating circumstances,” Kirk said, “When we have time…”

“Acid!” Pike shouted. He leapt out of the spray.

Kirk caught Pike up by the shoulders again. This time, the Commodore recognized the touch and clung to it. The illusion had been acutely painful this time and accompanied by incredibly realistic images of Pike’s skin melting off the underlying muscle. “Whoa, whoa, Commodore, not acid. Focus.” They pushed back the illusion together this time. “Good.” He chased the Talosian as far as he could sense it until it faded, shouting aloud at the ceiling, “Would you people just leave off and let us get clean in peace?”

Spock’s clothes were dry. He slipped into them. They weren’t really clean, but the rinse and dry had improved them considerably. Jim walked past him carrying his own bundle of clothes. He caught his fingers in a brief caress. “Soon,” he promised. Pike was right behind him, displaying a lack of embarrassment born of long years in service.

As they left the showers, Kirk leading, Pike caught him aside for a moment. “He does have a really nice ass, I’ll give you that,” he said. Kirk shrugged his agreement.

He had to pause to pull Pike free of Talosian influence twice more, each time Pike catching on and excluding the Talosian a little more quickly. After the second time, he kept one hand on the Commodore’s shoulder while they walked. At the twinge of jealousy from Spock, he reached over to pull Spock into a half-hug and press their foreheads together for a moment. _They’re not putting me in a mood to negotiate,_ he sent.

They entered a room containing six biobeds. A single frail Talosian reclined on each, attended by two younger ones. Kirk and Pike walked to the center of the room. “We wish to speak to Leran,” Pike said.

“Commodore Pike.” It was not immediately apparent which one had spoken, as none had moved. One of the younger ones indicated the second bed from the door. “I fear my good intentions served none of us well.”

“All you would have had to do was ask,” Pike said.

Leran turned to him. “It is one thing to imagine one’s civilization coming to a quiet end at some indefinite time in the future. It is quite another to watch one’s companions die of disease and malnutrition. Shortly after we sent you away, many of the machines that had sustained us failed at once, and the others, overworked, began to fail in far greater numbers than they had before.”

“You still could have asked for our help. We left on good terms with your people,” Pike said. “If you were capable of taking all of my senses from me at such a distance, you could simply have projected a hologram and we could have worked out a solution like adults.”

“Many of our elders have behaved in a childish fashion, and as the amplifier gave power to the loudest and most strident voices, the decision was made that you were not truly persons, and could therefore be collected and required to serve us, as one might keep beasts of burden.”

Kirk interjected, “Okay, we can all agree that some really poor decisions were made. But here we are. You have no functioning government and some of your people are continuing to assault our people. This is going to stop.”

Leran indicated agreement. “I admit I am not certain how.”

“You said your culture was stagnant and your people too lazy to survive. That may have been true before your machines started shutting down, but I’ve met a few of the last generation of children and they are smart and resourceful, and they’ve been working their little butts off keeping you and each other alive. They are fully capable of rebuilding a civilization that could take its place in the Federation.”

Leran brightened a little at that thought. “We will see what we can do to stop the assaults. Unfortunately, there are those among the elders whose minds have become twisted. We do not have the technology to isolate them from the vulnerable.”

“Once their behavior is not tolerated, we can work together to protect our people.” Pike approached Leran’s biobed. “With any luck, perhaps we can get you out of that bed,” he said.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I am thirty-seven years old.”

“We’ll be sending teams of our people to work on repairs, and some others to teach your young people how to do the same. They will be under our direction, not yours, for the time being. If we can maintain a respectful relationship, perhaps we will be able to assist you in reclaiming your planet’s surface.” 

Kirk felt a need to sit down. Now. “I’m sorry, I must ask that we take a short break. I am…”

Strong arms wrapped around him from behind and lowered him to the floor. Spock said, his mouth close enough to Kirk’s ear that he could feel his breath, “The captain has been subject to unaccustomed exertion and requires food and rest.”

“I’m fine,” Kirk said. “I just need a minute.”

“You’re not,” Pike said. “Spock, get him out of here, feed him up, and then get a room. I can take care of myself.”

“That seems unlikely,” Spock said.

Leran turned her head toward the two of them. “We will shield Commodore Pike.”

“Go, Commander. That’s an order.”


	26. Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirk and Spock finally catch a break, loose ends get wrapped up, and everybody ends up where they belong.

Kirk sat in the Celeste sickbay, eating a bowl of replicated chicken casserole, the good kind, with mushrooms and shell shaped pasta and a full centimeter of crushed onion straws on top. Bones ran a tricorder over him where he sat on the floor, Spock curled around him like a protective octopus. “Nurse Breslin’s quarters are room 115. She’s offered them to you for the duration, since she’ll be holed up here with all the worst injured going home and I’m going back down to Talos to look after the cyclosarin cases.”

Kirk bobbed a nod over his meal. 

“What did I say?” Bones prompted.

“Room 115. You’re going down to take care of Scotty.”

“Right. You get twenty-four hours, and you have to spend at least eight of them sleeping, understood?”

“Yes, Doctor,” Spock mumbled into the back of Kirk’s neck.

 

It was not exactly a honeymoon suite, but it would do. A basket of real food, cheese and hummus and crackers, hard boiled eggs, fancy pickles, candy and nuts, had been placed by the bed along with a water dispenser and cups. In case they weren’t in a state to cross the room to the perfectly serviceable replicator.

By mutual agreement, their first order of business was to pull off their still gritty uniforms and take a proper shower, in warm water with body wash and shampoo. They were both going to smell like vanilla and mangoes for the duration, it would appear. Showering together in a standard size Starfleet stall was less romantic than he might have hoped, given that they both had knees and elbows and a genuine desire to be clean, but Spock was unwilling to let Kirk out of his sight and Kirk had to admit that he’d overdone it down on the planet’s surface a little. A lot. Once the water had warmed the walls of the stall, he found himself sagging back against them and allowing Spock to take over washing him. The sensation of those long fingers working fruit scented shampoo through his hair was soothing, and the mind he sensed through those fingers demanded nothing, gentled and smoothed a raggedness he had barely realized was there, as though the eight, no, twelve--more than that but he’d lost count around twelve--other people he’d shifted his mind into to push out Talosian elders had left his own brains tangled like so much yarn.

Spock blanched at the numbers. Apparently that many mind melds in a row, if that’s what they were and Kirk contended they weren’t, not _technically_ , had been a risky choice on his part. He left defending his necessary actions for later and just let the water pour over both of them until the warning chime sounded. Ten seconds later, the shower stopped on its own.

They dried off but didn’t bother to dress, just crossed the room on heavy feet and poured their weary bodies into the bed. Truth be told, if they weren’t both still being racked by the hormonal aftershocks of Spock’s _pon farr_ they probably would have fallen asleep for the night in a tangle of clean, damp limbs right there. Instead they promised each other they’d rest just a minute and closed their eyes. They didn’t sleep the whole night, but when Kirk awoke to fingers stroking gently up and down his spine it was a good hour and a half later. They were both still so exhausted, mentally, physically, and emotionally that they lay there for long minutes just treating their hands to the skin they could reach without having to move the rest of their bodies.

The hollow of Spock’s neck smelled like vanilla body wash. He could suckle it without moving his head, and the soft sigh his lips and tongue elicited was a lovely music. Spock scooted a little sideways and turned them so they lay side by side, Kirk’s leg still thrown up over both of Spock’s, making a little room for them to move their hands freely. Spock’s free hand trailed the rest of the way down Kirk’s back to cup his ass, then moved lower to massage the outside of one thigh. Kirk worked a hand in between them to stroke the soft skin below Spock’s navel, teasing into his dark curls and waiting to feel his response.

Spock encouraged him with a wave of warm arousal through the bond. The grasping urgency of the morning seemed to have faded. He rolled onto his back long enough to fish through it for the tube of lubricant sitting on the bedside table beside their basket of snacks. Both of them were moving slowly enough that they took the time to tuck the tube between their bodies for a few minutes to warm it. Spock dozed off briefly and Kirk followed him down into fragments of what might have been dreams. Some amount of time later they awoke with a twitch of limbs, Spock’s body renewing its demands for attention and eventual release. A wisp of apology flowed into Kirk and he dismissed it. _Nowhere else I’d rather be, beloved_. He drew Spock closer so they were clasped tight together, the bottle sandwiched between their bellies, and slid his hands down to knead Spock’s ass. Spock, waking enough to note his arousal was more advanced than Kirk’s, probably because Kirk kept sliding back toward sleep, reached between Kirk’s legs to tease the underside of his balls until his cock finally rose to the occasion. Kirk sent gratitude and appreciation for Spock’s talented hands along the bond.

Spock fumbled one handed with the cap to the lube and dropped it somewhere in the bed, but neither of them cared enough to retrieve it. He squeezed a little into his own hand and supplied a generous amount to Kirk’s and by mutual agreement they reached between them to stroke each other, first gently but then more firmly, matching rhythm so that the sensation resonated between them. They were able to keep themselves at an exquisite plateau for quite some time, helped along both by the simplicity of their movements, easily paused when they came too close to the edge, and by their sleepiness, which gave their mental union a slow, dreamlike quality. Kirk’s mind grew languid and empty, focused only on the wordless wash of touch between them, a sort of sensual meditation that they both needed very badly.

They came by mutual agreement at the same time and fell dead asleep within seconds, both remaining so for nearly twelve hours. When they woke ,they tidied up a little, breakfasted from the basket and, well rested, explored more athletic ways to satisfy each other until duty called them away.

*

Four days later they stood on the surface of Talos in borrowed dress uniforms, Commodore Pike beside them with Leran in a support chair, flanked by Captain Una and Kshir on one side and Daseh and Epol, hands tightly clasped, on the other.

The rest of the Mariah’s crew, Uhura, T’Pring, and Scotty stood alongside them, Scotty’s only visible concession to his recent near death experience a heavy jacket and a hat. The cold still sometimes triggered tremors that could escalate into near seizurelike intensity. McCoy hovered near him. Kirk caught him surreptitiously running the medscanner over the engineer at least twice in the few minutes they had been standing outside.

The shimmer of gold and metallic singing that heralded a transport faded to reveal Ambassador Sarek, closely shadowed by his brother Sovar, Admiral Katrina Cornwell, Captain Burnham, and a red haired woman Kirk thought was her first officer. Four other Vulcans Kirk didn’t recognize, wearing the uniforms of the VES rather than Starfleet, flanked the group.

 _Father does not look well_ , Spock noted. Kirk agreed. He looked like he’d lost weight in the couple of weeks since they’d last seen him and his hands were pale, though expert application of cosmetics lent color to his face.

Cornwell stepped forward to greet Leran. “I am Katrina Cornwell, representing the Federation along with Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan.” One of the four Vulcans followed her forward, taking a pointedly defensive stance at her elbow.

Leran replied, “We welcome you and are grateful for your aid in rebuilding our world.”

The next few minutes were occupied with stiff, but necessary declarations from Leran, Sarek, and Cornwell, then the party adjourned to a large conference room on the Discovery. Leran and the two adolescents accompanied them, Daseh and Epol dissolving into giggles at the ticklish sensation when they transported. Sometimes they made it easy to remember that they were, after all, merely children. 

Sarek, for his part, scanned the group with his eyes, picking out Daseh and Epol. He walked up to them and bowed slightly. “I have heard much about the two of you. You have volunteered to accompany us to learn more of the Federation?”

Daseh spoke for them in xer light not-quite-voice. “Yes. We wish to see other worlds and learn other ways of being.”

“And mathematics,” Epol added with glitter in xer tone. “And also physics and chemistry.” Xe had taken to instruction on the repair of the Talosians’ life support machinery with almost frightening enthusiasm, eclipsed only by xer delight when Helmsman Chou, recovering alongside Scotty and Daseh in the infirmary, started passing the time by talking astrophysics with xem during xer frequent visits.

“I am learning about how you make memories out of little lines,” Daseh said.

“She’s learning to read and write,” Kirk clarified.

Sarek almost smiled, which in a high stakes diplomatic situation like this one was roughly equivalent to picking the two little Talosians up and hugging them. “So I surmised.”

None of the Talosians, despite their power and memory, had more than what in the Federation would have been a first or second grade education. The youth were trained in basic caregiving and manual labor, and the elders lived lives of leisure and social machinations from their beds.

After all their rescue efforts, Pike was staying on with Leran and the Vulcans, at least for the first few months, along with Uhura and T’Pring, though Uhura would be back on the Enterprise in about six months once her bond with T’Pring settled. As civilizations went, the Talosians were as close to death as it got. It would fall to the Vulcans and those elders not lost to dissipation or madness to comb those memory archives for what might remain of who they had once been.

*

“It would be wise for you to curtail your physical demonstrations of affection once we return to the Enterprise, Jim,” Spock murmured into his ear.

Jim squeezed Spock around the waist and raised an arm toward the view out the observation port. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

“Aye, that she is,” Scotty said. “I’m just glad we got her back.”

“Admiral Cornwell put in a good word, and the Vulcan High Council threatened to raise a stink if my ‘condition’ were used as an excuse to park me behind a desk.”

They rode a shuttle over. Sulu met them in the shuttle bay. He nodded to both of them, hands clasped behind his back. “Sir, shall we make this a formal transfer of command?”

Kirk grinned. “I don’t know, you think you can handle going back to the helm?”

“Sir, I’ve really had nothing to do. We’ve been stuck in orbit for a month.”

“That’s not what I heard. Good catch on the engine sabotage.”

Sulu shrugged. “I got a bad feeling from the rumors circulating around. We were in a communications blackout and confined to the ship, but Rea Smith managed to get some back door channels open. Kevin Riley found the misalignment in the impulse engines.”

“Have you put him in for a commendation?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Excellent. Shall we get the formalities over with?”

“Computer, transfer all command codes to Captain James T. Kirk. Authorization Sulu 01035.”

“Authorization complete. Enterprise now under Command of James T. Kirk.”

“I relieve you, sir.”

“I stand relieved.” Sulu turned and walked ahead of them out of the shuttle bay to the turbolift.

“Bridge,” Kirk said. The turbolift began to move. “So, what’s our next mission?”

“Milk run, as you might expect. Carrying supplies to a colony near Klingon space, showing the flag. Base would like to know if we’re willing to transport a theater troupe in exchange for a couple of shows en route?”

“That sounds like a fair trade.”

“Mr. Spock, you’ll find your department is in order.” He paused to regard the two of them. He and Spock had elected to come aboard in as professional a manner as they could manage, trying not even to look at each other too much. “The changes to your quarters are also finished. Spock’s quarters have been rearranged into a bedroom, and yours into office and sitting room, with the bathroom in between. I hear the two of you got married while you were gone?”

“The actual situation is somewhat more complicated,” Spock began.

“Yes, yes, we got married. Very married,” Kirk interjected. “I assume you know about my condition?”

“Only in general terms, sir. Is it...permanent?”

Kirk nodded. “And frankly at this point I’m getting used to it. I’m not sure I’d have it cured if I could.” He needed to ask. “Does it make you uncomfortable to serve with me?”

“No, not at all,” Sulu said a little too quickly. On the defensive just a little? “Anyway, congratulations, both of you.”

The turbolift opened onto the bridge. Crepe paper and balloons covered every surface. A banner said, “Welcome Home” and another said “Congratulations!” A small pile of wrapped presents sat on the captain’s chair.

McCoy, who had preceded them to the ship by a few hours to “get sickbay back up to speed” grinned at them from his perch, leaning against a console. Scotty was seated at the navigation console, a grin gracing his still pale looking face.

The greeny gold aura just beside the turbolift door that he had been too distracted to notice ambushed him with a hug hard enough to knock the breath out of him. He started to protest, slammed his shields up higher. Love and relief poured into him, a desperation in that hug that didn’t even care that everyone would know there was something more than just a Captain and Engineering Lieutenant relationship between them. He adjusted, let some of that love and his own pride flow back into Riley, who startled at the sensation. Kirk pulled away from the hug to grip the younger man by the shoulders. “Riley! Great work taking care of Scotty’s engines while we were away.”

“I,” Riley said, blinking.

He turned Riley loose. “You okay? You took me by surprise, there.”

“Oh. Yeah, JT, I mean, of course, sir.” He paused. “Does _that_ happen every time?”

 _That’s the Kevin from..._ Spock said, surprised. Kirk sent confirmation. He ruffled his own hair, embarrassed. “I can keep a lid on, if I have to. I was just…it’s good to see you, kid. Bones, did the three of you arrange this?” He gestured at the party trappings on the bridge.

Bones shrugged. “It would be a bigger party if the timing were better. Scotty spent too long this morning messing around with the engines and had a relapse.”

“I’m fine, I keep telling you,” Scotty protested.

“Is it serious?” Kirk asked.

Bones shot a stern look at Scotty. “No, just some numbness in his hands and feet. It will clear up with a little rest.”

“Good.”

Kirk stacked the presents on the floor next to his seat and sat down, touching each button on the armrest without pressing it, just to make sure he remembered where they all were. Spock had already claimed the science station and was busily recalibrating all of the instruments, though he hadn’t yet removed or complained about the twists of crepe paper in his way.

The bridge was the same as when he left it. The panels were in the same places. The viewscreen was lit with the pinpoints of a thousand stars. There would be paperwork, of course, and social obligations, the first of which was going to be greeting Anton Karidian and his troupe of Shakespearean actors when they came aboard in an hour or so.

But it was different. Everyone on the bridge wore their own swirling caul of light, too bright for his best attempt so far at shields to extinguish entirely. Sulu took his seat at the helm, older and wiser, perhaps, for the time spent captaining a ship with a captive crew. 

He turned in his chair. And then there was Spock. The best change that came out of this whole mess. Spock felt Kirk’s eyes on him and turned, favoring him with a soft gaze, though he would not permit himself to smile on the bridge. Kirk projected something not appropriate for work at him and was rewarded with a raised eyebrow. Kirk poked out his tongue for a fraction of a second, then turned back around.

McCoy, catching the exchange, said, “If you two are going to be insufferable I’m going back to sickbay.”

Scotty caught Sulu’s eye and smirked. “Maybe we should all go, leave the two of them alone to get reacquainted with the bridge.”

“Yes, I think so. I believe there is a tradition on Earth. Something about christening every room…” Sulu waggled his eyebrows at them.

“Sir!” Riley protested, reddening. 

Good. This was good. A little laughter at their expense would go a long way to helping them all build an new normal. On the other hand, given the way Sulu’s eye had tracked toward the pile of gifts, Kirk decided they might best be left to open in their quarters. After their shift was over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So either this is the end of the novel and there's an epilogue to follow or this is the end of the prologue to a short story. Your choice.
> 
> Also more smut here. I'll summarize so you can flip past it.
> 
> Scene 1: Smut when you're too tired to be properly smutty. Will be easily recognized by anyone who has ever had a newborn.  
> Scene 2: Semi-formal diplomatic ceremony thing on Talos. Pike Uhura, and T'Pring are staying behind temporarily to do diplomacy stuff.  
> Scene 3: Kirk gets the Enterprise back. There's some cute Riley stuff in there.


	27. But It Still Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue: 
> 
> Kirk and Spock answer a distress call sent by the mining colony at Janus IV, where fifty miners have been killed by a mysterious acid spewing monster.
> 
> AKA Kirk flirts with a Horta.

Janus 6, Stardate 3196.1

There was a monster on the loose in the mining colony. Vanderberg was convinced of it, Appel was even convinced he’d seen it. Kirk had come this close to asking for Appel’s memory of what he’d seen, but the man had a deep vein of hostility running through him that hadn’t been improved by his recent experience, and discretion, or possibly cowardice on Kirk’s part, had won out.

After all, there had to have been at least one mission they’d been on in the last several weeks in which his talent hadn’t come in handy. Spock had quickly moved from being scandalized to being fondly resigned to his behavior. Kirk paced the room while Spock fiddled with a silvery sphere that rested on Vanderberg’s desk.

McCoy returned while he and Spock were perusing the map on Vanderberg’s office wall. “There wasn’t much to autopsy,” he told them. “A few bone fragments and teeth. It looked like his body was submerged in a vat of some highly corrosive acid.”

“This acid, would it be strong enough to dissolve machinery?” Kirk asked.

McCoy nodded grimly. “Strong enough to eat through just about anything.”

Spock caught Kirk’s attention. He pointed to a few locations on the map, then said, “I've charted the positions of the deaths and acts of sabotage. If the times of these incidents are to be accepted as accurate, the creature would have to have moved at an incredible rate of speed.”

Vanderberg returned to his office. Kirk acknowledged him with a slight nod and asked, “How recent are these charts?”

“They were made last year.”

“Before the appearance of whatever’s been killing your people.”

“That’s right.”

He turned to Spock. “Give us a report on life beneath the surface.”

“Other than the residents and transplanted Earth vermin, insects and rodents, there is no life in the subsurface tunnels that our sensors can detect. At least, no life sufficiently like our own for the sensors to recognize it.” He returned to Vanderberg’s desk to weigh the sphere in his hands, his expression puzzled.

“We can’t search tunnel by tunnel on foot.” 

“Perhaps we can force an appearance of the creature,” Spock said. He carried the object over to Kirk. “What do you make of this?” Through the bond, he sent, _Take care. There’s something unusual I can’t identify. Something perhaps alive._

“When that creature appears, men die,” Vanderberg warned.

Kirk took the object gingerly in his hands. His greater sensitivity might yield more information than Spock could obtain. It seemed to sink into his palms, half questioning, almost cooing. “Feels like a baby,” he said aloud, before he remembered to censor himself. He pulled it closer, instinctively protective.

McCoy scoffed. “How do you know what babies feel like?” 

“Talos,” Kirk said. He held himself steady while the little creature reached out to him experimentally. It was not quite so little a baby as he might have thought. _Hello hello hello_ it said after a moment, the thought coming, bizarrely, in Federation Standard. He returned the greeting and asked its name, but received only additional delighted hellos in return.

“What do you mean it feels like a…. Something’s happening in the reactor room!” Vanderberg shouted. Spock and McCoy ran after him out the door. Kirk was left holding the baby. He followed at a more careful pace, still cradling it.

*

When Spock and Vanderberg arrived at the reactor pump, they found that the pump that circulated coolant through the colony’s main power reactor was missing. Not destroyed, but missing. Kirk appeared around the corner with the nodule tucked into the crook of his arm as though it were a child. “Spock, what’s happened?”

Spock turned toward Kirk, hands clasped behind his back, to report. “The creature appears to have stolen the reactor pump, or possibly taken it hostage. I believe we must revise our estimate of its intelligence upward sharply. We may be faced with a sapient being native to this world.” He found Kirk’s sudden attachment to the nodule concerning.

“In that case, we need to consider the Prime Directive,” Kirk noted. “The baby understands a few words of Standard. Probably from listening to conversations in that office.”

Spock nodded. In that case, the probability that the creature was sapient was a near certainty. “There is no way that the Federation will withdraw from a planet this valuable. Not after having been in possession for fifty years.”

Vanderberg ducked through the circular hole in the door. “If we leave the reactor on without coolant, it will blow and poison half the planet. If we turn it off, we lose life support.”

Kirk nodded. “I’ll get Scotty on the problem right away.” He juggled communicator and nodule, and ended up passing the sphere to Spock. “Be careful with him.”

Spock left Kirk to discuss stabilizing the reactor with Scott, while he waited just outside the reactor room door. He turned his attention back to the sphere. A baby, Kirk had said. Kirk routinely maintained his mental shields at what for a Vulcan would be scandalously low, and his sensitivity had settled quite high, so he was always picking up an awful lot more, casually, than Spock ever did. 

He elected to sit, knowing that if he were to open his mind to the object and become startled, he might drop and harm it. He rested it in the hollow of his crossed legs and rested his fingers against it, closing his eyes and allowing his shields to dissipate. _Hello!_ the creature burbled in what was clearly Federation standard. He projected his name to the creature. It repeated its cheerful greeting a couple of additional times, but did not supply a name. It was, in fact, a baby. He withdrew gently, the infant protesting slightly at being left alone.

He returned to Kirk, holding the infant gingerly. “Sir,” he said.

“Yes, Spock?”

“I concur with your assessment. The nodule is an infant still in the egg. It seems intelligent enough at this stage of development to be the progeny of a sapient being.”

“What do we tell Vanderberg?”

“We must inform him that the creature is almost certainly sapient, and that First Contact protocols, at minimum, apply.”

“He’s not going to like it.”

*

While Scotty attempted a temporary fix on the coolant circulating pump, the three of them returned to Vanderberg’s office to confer with the chief of operations. 

“You’re sure that thing’s a baby?” McCoy said.

“An egg, to be precise. Very near hatching age, I believe,” Spock corrected.

McCoy shook his head. “Silicon based life? In an oxygen atmosphere? It just doesn’t seem possible.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Carbon based life should not be able to survive in the presence of an element as corrosive as oxygen, and yet you and I originated on different planets, independently evolving the cellular machinery to bend it to our will. Is it beyond the scope of imagination to allow for the possibility that silicon might do the same?”

“And you think they’re intelligent,” McCoy prompted.

“The infant is already making rudimentary attempts at communication. In addition, the care with which the pump was removed suggests it is being held somewhere intact, possibly as a bargaining chip. I assert that the creature is not only almost certainly intelligent, but seeks to parlay.”

Vanderberg strode into the room. “Mr. Scott’s work around is holding, for now.”

“Sit down, Mr. Vanderberg.”

Vanderberg sat, scowling. Kirk circled to pull up a chair on the other side of the desk, still holding the egg. “The situation here has become more complicated,” he said.

“How complicated?”

Spock explained. “The preponderance of the evidence suggests the creature responsible for the damage and deaths is sapient.”

“So it’s not just a dumb animal. It’s a murderer!”

Kirk raised a hand as though to grip Vanderberg’s arm, but returned it to his lap. “If it is sapient and native to this world, we have encroached upon its territory. The Prime Directive may apply here. We have to try to talk to it, not just kill it.”

“And just how are you going to do that? It kills in seconds.” Vanderberg’s face reddened with frustration.

Kirk shook his head. “We’ll figure something out. Mr. Vanderberg, if First Contact protocols are not followed in a case like this, the Prime Directive will be applied, and the Federation may demand that the planet be left for the use of its native inhabitants. That would be an economic disaster for the Federation.”

Vanderberg left his seat to slam his palm onto his desk. “Then let’s kill it before it becomes a problem.”

Vanderberg’s casual suggestion that they murder a sapient being and cover up the deed did not endear him to Spock in the slightest. “You assume that it is a unique entity,” he said, calmly. “We must determine their numbers,” Spock noted.

Kirk shifted the egg in his arms. “Do you know what this is?”

“It’s a silicon nodule.”

“It’s an egg,” Kirk said. “It has the self awareness of a human infant of about a year of age. It’s been learning Standard just by sitting in your office.”

“That’s quite an assertion.”

“We have means of scanning for neurological complexity,” Spock explained, deliberately implying that such means were technological, as most humans trusted the reliability of machines over personal observations.

Vanderberg’s face blanched. “So the place is going to be crawling with them! I’ll have them all destroyed!”

Spock advanced on Vanderberg. “You will do no such thing. You and your men will retire to the uppermost levels. The captain and myself, as we are best equipped to locate the life form, will form the primary search team, along with Security officers Giotto and,” he paused to acknowledge the slight pressure at the edge of his mind from Kirk.

“Mick Turei. He’s steady under pressure and he’s seen us work,” Kirk said.

“I concur with your choice.”

Kirk continued. “Other teams will form a perimeter and send scans to Spock and myself. Remember, the creature has taken, and most likely hidden, that pump. We need it returned intact or it’s going to take much longer to get production back online.”

“Fine, we’ll do it your way, and when that thing turns you two into smoking piles of ash, I’ll do it mine.”

*

The four of them, Kirk, Spock, Giotto, and Turei entered the tunnels in tight formation, covering each other’s backs, each with their Phaser II’s in their hands. Kirk did not plan to lose any security officers today. The plan was to make their way toward what they had dubbed the nursery, a region where the bulk of the eggs had been found, in hopes that the creature would be there.

Kirk took point, the baby still in his arms, his shields so low that he risked crashing if either security officer touched him. As it was, he strained to listen for the creature over Giotto’s subvocal cataloguing of sight lines and potential threats and Turei’s constant musical soundtrack. He reminded Kirk of Uhura in that way. They crunched over pebbles and bits of shell. Spock kept his eyes on his tricorder. “There. 163 meters due south and closing,” he said. He moved the tricorder in a short arc. “Still only sensing a single creature.”

“The only one of its kind?”

“Possibly. Or possibly a scout, sent to investigate the mines.”

“In that case, why now?”

“Unknown, Captain.”

“Awful lot of broken eggs around here,” Kirk noted grimly. “I think if they were mine I’d be angry. Maybe angry enough to kill.”

The creature came up fast from the left, blue white as a supernova, racing toward them and bleeding grief and rage. “Look out!” Kirk said. Spock followed his perception, turned it into a distance and bearing and said, “22 meters bearing…..” He pointed. It was faster.

Giotto and Turei readied their phasers and aimed where Spock indicated. The wall a few meters in front of them glowed red, then dripped sizzling bubbles of acrid goo. Kirk’s eyes and nose burned. The security officers interposed themselves and aimed their phasers. The creature’s rage poured over them. If it was a rational creature, it was not so at that moment. Kirk sent the order to shoot subvocal to save fractions of a second. The security officers fired as the creature charged.

The creature’s shock and agony snapped back at Kirk, who collapsed behind the security officers, still clutching the baby, who wailed in his mind. Someone took the egg from him while Spock opened up the bond, assessing his condition with quick, professional touches, then gathered him in to provide a moment’s comfort before both returned to the task at hand.

“It’s retreating,” Giotto said.

“It will be back,” Spock replied.

“We need to get to the nursery,” Kirk said, using Spock’s arm as leverage to pull himself to his feet. “Bring Petey.”

“You’re calling it Petey,” Turei said. He handed the egg back to Kirk, shaking his head slowly. “I did not sign on for this.” But he was smiling as he turned away.

Kirk and Turei got a few meters ahead of Spock and Giotto when the creature returned, a blaze of brightness spilling a pyroclastic flow of pain in its wake. “Get down!” Kirk shouted. He was already throwing himself to the side when Turei tackled him. Rock tumbled down beside them, coating them with dust and blocking the passage from which they had just come. Kirk checked Spock’s status and finding he was alive and unhurt, turned to getting untangled, physically and otherwise, from a hundred and ten kilos of unflappable Maori security officer.

Turei preempted his apology. “Part of the job, sir. You have to keep alert to pick up where that thing is.” He paused. “It’s right behind us, isn’t it?”

Kirk nodded. He had wrapped his body around Petey to protect him, but the baby had become upset at the noise and jostling. He stroked it a few times until it settled while they backed away. The creature advanced on them until it had them backed up against the tunnel wall. Kirk’s primary impression was of a blue-white sheet of pain that filled the room. He slowed his breathing deliberately and shielded enough to get a decent look at it. It was about as large as a loveseat and looked almost like a volcanic accretion, burnt charcoal colored with encrustings of orange and red and a fringe that fluttered along the ground.

Both Kirk and Turei had their phasers out. The creature shifted slightly, first one direction, then the other. “She’s cute,” Turei said. “In a kawaii lava flow kind of way.”

Kirk gestured to the large, foaming white wound on the creature’s flank. “We need to get Bones down here.” He flipped open his comm. “Bones, you there?”

“Where else would I be?”

_We have found a route around the cave in, Captain._

Kirk sent him an image of the creature. Spock’s concern spiked. _Stay there. Do not provoke it. I am coming._

“Jim?” Bones’ voice said.

“I need you down here. The creature is badly wounded.”

“If it’s silicon based, there’s not much I’m going to be able to do.”

“Get down here anyway.”

 _Captain?_ Spock rounded the corner with Giotto, stopping short when the creature turned in their direction, its body tensed to charge.

Kirk held up his hands, flipping the phaser so it pointed at the roof of the tunnel, then set it down lightly on a ledge. He crossed to Spock to hand him Petey.

“I’m taking point this time,” he told Spock, not waiting for the protest that flowed over him as he thinned out what remained of his shields.

*

It was a grave responsibility to be entombed through the cataclysm, and Horta had failed. Not because of the fifteen thousand destroyed eggs. There were 844,000 more of them, more or less, remaining. She failed because she was dying. She would leave those eggs to be destroyed by the strange monsters made of rainwater and carbon grease, or failing that, to emerge only to grow feral without her to guide them, growing into little more than animals, unaware of the million years of history she had been entrusted to impart. And all because she panicked.

When the machines first broke into the chambers where the eggs were held, she simply ate them, as she would any other threatening vermin. The metals in them tasted of artifice, too pure to be natural. That fact had been concerning, but she determined to gather more information about them. The first time she encountered the slimy living oil slicks that operated the machines, she watched them until she saw them casually destroying eggs, then she had rushed them to make them stop. She had not realized they were so fragile that they would boil away beneath her tunneling secretions.

They attacked her the next time she saw them, and she killed more of them in self defense, but they continued to threaten the eggs. There were so many, and she was alone. She listened to them to learn the rudiments of their language and learned the meanings of the letters embossed onto the things they made, studied their technology...her people built things too, they just made their cities farther underground, away from the human settlement. She didn’t know exactly what the thing she’d managed to steal was, but she had a nebulous idea that she might be able to get them to stop killing eggs to get it back. If she could find a way to talk to them.

But she made a fatal mistake. She encountered a group of the creatures, four of them, with devices that poured out pain and burned her, ripping a wound in her side, and in her panic she had tunneled away to hide, driving her tunnelling secretions into the wound, where they would continue to dissolve the unprotected flesh over hours, perhaps a day until she died, leaving all of the eggs alone. 

She hummed her sonar through the tunnels, found the same four approaching, and ate a weakened column to make a cave in to separate and trap two of them. She wasn’t sure what she might do about them, kill them perhaps as a last revenge? 

Her wound hurt so much she could barely order her thoughts, and the despair she felt every time she passed a cluster of eggs caused a pain that was even worse. She wailed, her cries too low pitched for human ears. The creatures watched her, one with an egg held precariously far above the ground. The two she had excluded with her artificial cave in returned.

The one with the egg passed it to one of the others and approached, its long, thin limbs spread out, to make it look larger, perhaps? She felt like it wanted something from her. The air seemed to fill with rumbles like the sonar traces of her people, but she couldn’t understand what might be said--the trace was more like music than speech.

She knew a few of the words she’d found embossed or sometimes painted in flavored patterns on the machinery she’d consumed. She was not certain of their meaning. “KILL”--that was damage, possibly death. “NO” was obvious, or at least was made clear by many repetitions. She thought “I” meant a person, but she wasn’t sure, nor did she have any idea how to arrange the words. She put the big one in the middle because it was the longest. It wasn’t “Don’t kill the eggs, they’re children,” but it would have to do.

The monsters studied her handiwork, then two of them approached and knelt before her. Their soft, almost slimy appendages repulsed her, but she forced herself to be still, hoping they meant no harm when they reached out to touch her skin.

She had not realized just how lonely she had been. She found herself wrapped in music, cradled in it as she hadn’t been since the mothers had sung to her so many millennia ago, before she was placed in the cocoon of stone to wait out the cataclysm. _I want to understand_ , one of them said. It was so earnest it made her cry all over again, and she poured her sorrow into it, not caring that it was a stranger...a _stranger_ sort of stranger than she’d ever encountered before. It accepted her grief and pain into itself and returned its wonder at her existence, that she who was so different could be--it thought she was beautiful. It told her the device she had taken needed to be returned or they all would die, even the babies.

A part of her, the angry, desperate part that mourned the future that would die with her felt that would be fair and just. Lives for lives. Payback for the end of all things. The children would have no true life growing up alone, like animals. _Maybe you don’t have to die,_ the creature said by way of its miracle language that was not a language.

She directed it to the device, half expecting that it would abandon her once they had what they needed, but it stayed and held her through her pain and told her beautiful stories of impossible places so very far away….

*

McCoy’s vision cleared of gold sparkles and he looked around the cave into which he had been deposited. Kirk was seated so his back rested against a large outcropping of stone, no, a living carapace of some kind, talking about the time they’d met the grove of singing trees, his hands waving back and forth in imitation of their movements. His smile was flirtatious, his face lit up with practiced charm, but his eyes were wide and unseeing. Spock crouched next to him, fingers pressed to the creature’s side. A large, pale, foaming wound marred the side of the thing. The air stank of heavy metals and acid.

There was no telling whether either of them was close enough to the surface to hear him yell at them. “Hey! What have you got for me here?” he shouted. His voice bounced around the walls.

Kirk blinked a couple of times, but eventually focused on McCoy. “Patient for you.”

“What do you expect me to do? I’m a doctor, not a bricklayer. I wouldn’t even know where to begin!”

“You can do this, I’ve got faith in you.” He looked back off into empty air, distracted again. McCoy planted his hands on his hips and shook his head at the Captain. “That’s an order, Bones,” Kirk added.

McCoy shook his head, exasperated, but ran a standard tricorder over the wound, the medscanner likely to be useless. The wound was extremely acidic near the surface, while the underlying structures were corroding and dissolving as he watched. He had a hunch, but he needed more information from the creature itself. Perhaps it was intelligent enough to suggest first aid. “Patch me in,” he said to Kirk, “I feel like I’m guessing here and I need to know if what I’m doing is working.”

Kirk turned to face him. “You really want to do that? It’s a hard shift, Bones. She’s in a lot of pain.”

McCoy nodded. This stuff still scared the bejeezus out of him, but he needed all the information he could get. “I’m working blind. Patch me in.” 

Kirk caught him up in a moment, weaving him into the link. McCoy’s vision whited out on a wave of swooping vertigo, then he could sense Kirk, Spock, and the creature as if in his peripheral vision. Kirk was right, the being was in searing pain. _What the hell was I thinking?_ Bones thought, then got hold of himself and went to work. Kirk sent a brief summary of the nature of the injury, the deadly acid boring into the wound, as he had guessed. He returned acknowledgement, then flipped open his communicator to talk to Chapel.

“McCoy here. I need as much baking soda as you can get. Grab it and beam it down as fast as you can. Run.”

He calibrated the tricorder to get a look at the composition of the being’s body fluids while Christine collected the baking soda.

“What’s going on down there?” she asked. 

“Today I’m a bricklayer, that’s what. Next, I need saturated salt solution, 26%, twenty liters at a pH of 5.2. And a 20 kilo bag of shelter ceramacrete.” He took another critical look at the size of the wound. “Make that two bags.”

The tub of baking soda materialized next to him. Working through Kirk’s subvocal patter— and the secondhand pain of the creature, the Horta he gathered, was distracting, but no worse than working during a firefight, which he’d done more often than he cared to remember. He grabbed a handful of baking soda and threw it into the edge of the wound, careful not to touch it with bare hands. A thread of approval from Spock encouraged him. It made sense to hear from him instead of Jim, he thought as he set to work throwing double handfuls into the wound until the tub was empty. Spock was probably doing the precision work while Jim handled emotional support.

The creature’s pain ebbed, though it didn’t vanish completely. “Excellent!” Bones exclaimed aloud. “Good old baking soda.”

Kirk kept up distracting the Horta and at the same time selling her on Federation membership while McCoy sluiced the wound with saline to remove the rest of the acid. “I’m going to start applying the ceramacrete,” he told them.

Spock acknowledged McCoy’s statement and passed the information on to the Horta. There was a commotion out in the tunnel. McCoy sent a quick warning to Kirk, who disengaged himself and tried to stand. The shouting grew louder and clearer. “Let us at it so we can kill it!”

“Monster!”

“It killed fifty men!”

Turei’s voice cut through the shouting of the mob. “And you killed thousands of her eggs!”

Kirk stood very still for a moment, arms out slightly for balance, then strode toward the group of miners. “About fifteen thousand,” he clarified. “Those silicon nodules you’ve been collecting and destroying? They’re her eggs. And very near hatching, able to respond to language and touch, like babies. She sings to them.” He bent down to collect one of them from the tunnel floor. “Her people were, and will be peaceful, philosophical, nonviolent. You pushed her beyond her limits, and like you, she did not realize you were intelligent until it was too late.”

“We can’t work with that thing down here, putting us all at risk,” Vanderberg said, though the fire had left his protest.

Kirk kept talking while McCoy troweled ceramacrete into the wound. “My first officer is explaining her rights and options to her as we speak. You will find a way to get along, or this colony will lose its charter. We’ll be bending the Prime Directive to the breaking point as it is, but I believe that the critical nature of operations here will give you some leverage, if you are able to work out a solution.”

He held the sphere out to Vanderberg. “Keep an eye on this one. They begin to learn language in the egg, and he’s been sitting in your office hearing Standard for as long as you’ve had him in there. His name is Naraht, but I’ve been calling him Petey.”

Vanderberg looked incredulously at the nodule, but after a moment, held out his hands to receive it. “Can it hear me?”

Kirk nodded. “And see you, in its own way. They use sonar, which you’d have noticed if you’d pointed an ultrasonic at them. He knows you by your voice and your shape. For some reason he seems to like you. Spock and I will stay to translate until we get a vocoder working so we can get an agreement hammered out as quickly as possible. We’ll have a much better chance to build a workable alliance if we have a draft before the First Contact committee gets involved.”

Spock sensed that McCoy had completed his work and released him, though a link between them remained. He wasn’t sure where that connection was going to lead, but he had decided weeks ago it wasn’t as unwelcome as he’d thought it would be. McCoy rubbed as much of the ceramacrete off his hands as he could before stepping out from behind the Horta’s bulk.

“Jim, I think we’ve done it! The ceramacrete is drying in place and protecting the wound like a bandage.”

“So she’ll live?”

“I can’t make any promises, but I think so. Make sure she knows not to tunnel until she’s healed. I don’t think the patch will stand up to much abrasion.”

Kirk acknowledged him with a nod and a smile. McCoy slapped him on the shoulder and turned back to where Spock still crouched beside the Horta. McCoy tapped him twice, sharply, on the left shoulder.

Spock settled back on his heels. “Problem, Doctor?” 

“Jim could use you with the negotiations. I don’t know how you could just sit there and watch him flirt with her like that,” he teased.

Spock raised an eyebrow. “I am confident that she cannot successfully compete for his affections. However, I am uncertain what his response might be to your less than subtle flirtation with me.”

“Why you green blooded hobgoblin!” McCoy spluttered.

“Overemotional child,” Spock replied primly.

“I’m older than the both of you,” McCoy protested.

“Indeed. May I suggest that you join us for dinner at some convenient time, perhaps when we are given respite from these negotiations. We have matters to discuss.”

Did they, really? Wonders never ceased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we come to the end of Baby Writer's First Novel. This chapter contains the seed from which this thing grew (ok, half the seed, the egg, perhaps?
> 
> When I wrote The Kind of Man You Are, I was asked how I thought Kirk would have coped with developing significant psychic abilities. I remembered a novel I read a long time ago in which Spock claimed such abilities would break him, make him unfit for command and I said to myself, no, he would put on his big boy pants and do his job. 
> 
> And then I thought, so, if Kirk had taken point on the situation with the Horta, how might that have looked different, and I got this image of Kirk, smiling and gesturing, chatting in that winsome way he has and I thought that flirt. I must write the thing. And here we are.
> 
> Point of curiosity, if I were perchance to write any other episodes through the lens of this particular 'verse, what might be ones you'd like to see?
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of **the LLF Comment Project,** whose goal is to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites:
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